


Maybe This Time

by Moons_of_Avalon



Series: Maybe This Time verse [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Breathplay, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Maori Jack Rollins, Masochism, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Panic Attacks, Praise Kink, Sadism, Sex Toys, Sexist Language, Size Kink, Spanking, Sub-Drop, Twink Brock Rumlow, Unnegotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, Vibrators, Voyeurism, Wax Play, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:06:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 47,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6698653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moons_of_Avalon/pseuds/Moons_of_Avalon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to Purr for me, Kitten. </p><p>The story of how the young Brock Rumlow met Jack Rollins and became the submissive he never knew he was meant to be</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mollynoble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollynoble/gifts), [redux (sian22)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian22/gifts).



> I didn't really plan on this happening but evidently it's happened! I've decided to continue the filth into a multi-chapter fic…lord help me…
> 
> Tags are subject to change as filth intensifies, please pay them heed
> 
> Gifted to mollynoble for always being an amazing beta and sian22redux for propping up my brain when it didn't want to pick a title!

Warm, muggy air curls around Brock's face as he makes his way down the dirt road, his backpack hanging off one shoulder. He’s long since given up on trying to hitch a ride. Almost all the cars ignore him anyway, and the last three that actually pulled over were just creeps who wanted to get their hands on him. He’s not that desperate yet.

A car speeds past, kicking dust up onto Brock’s tongue that he immediately spits back out at the car’s tail-lights, watching them fade into the distance. “Asshole,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Not that it does any good, his hands have as much grit on them as every other part of his body. He needs a shower. A good meal and a fucking drink wouldn’t hurt either, but, more than anything he'd just like a bed to lay down on. Spending his days and nights on the side of the highway is getting old real fucking quick.

Running from one shitty situation right into another. Figures.

He walks in near silence, the asphalt unforgiving under his sore feet and worn shoes, until a droning rises behind him. Probably another car creeping up. He huffs, edging closer to the side of the road, though not completely off it. Getting run over doesn’t sound so terrible right now…

“Watch it, kid!” 

The shout makes Brock look back reflexively, and he’s got about half a second to be surprised before one misstep sends him tumbling off the road, making way for a hoard of motorcycles to roar past where he’s landed in the dry grass.

More voices ring above the sound of the bike engines, calling out _stupid kid_ and _get off the fucking road_. All things to make Brock’s blood boil as he shoots a glare out of the corner of his eye. His rage is cooled, however, by a shooting pain in his hand. One glance down reveals the damage done by landing the wrong way on a sharp rock.

“Shit…” he hisses, closing his hand around the fresh cut as he rummages through his backpack. Some bastard ripped a different shirt the day before, trying to keep Brock from jumping out of his car when he turned a little too handsy. He locates the torn fabric soon enough, tearing off a strip with his teeth and tying it tight around his palm. His body aches even more now. He’ll definitely have bruises when he wakes up tomorrow.

“Fucking assholes think they own the goddamn road…” he mutters, shoving himself up and slinging his bag over his shoulder again. More expletives slip out under his breath as he stumbles his way back onto the street, scrubbing smudges of dirt from the side of his face with his sleeve and raking his hair out of his eyes. 

As the road curves in front of him, lights catch his eye up ahead, and a few more paces reveal a long, low building. A bar, if the beer bottles and cigarette butts strewn around are any indication, not to mention the cacophony of laughter and shouting coming from inside. 

So this is where those guys had been so eager to get to.

Brock clicks his tongue, scornful, as he kicks one bottle and watches it roll down the slight slope towards the lines of motorcycles parked outside. His eyes fix on one, a Harley—big, gorgeous machine—which just so happens to look damn similar to the one that had been in front of that pack that nearly ran him down. Brock lets a smirk wander across his face, readjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

He could get far away a whole lot faster on that thing, not to mention the pretty penny he could pawn it off on some schmuck for, once he’s had his fill of it. 

He glances around, making sure no one’s in sight, his smirk getting wider as he eyes the bike again. It’s dumb and reckless, but that seems to be the name of his game these days. And at this point, what has he really got to lose?

One more glance around—just to be certain—is all it takes before he’s chuckling to himself, damn near skipping down the slope to tuck himself behind the monstrous bikes and get to work.

It’s stupid easy to hotwire a motorcycle, he’s done it a thousand times before, though usually with a little more premeditation. Stripping a wire off from a neighboring bike with his pocket knife takes a little longer than he might like, but once he gets to work on the beauty he’s really after it’s gonna be over in a flash. 

He’s about three seconds from being off with the thing when—

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Brock’s got just enough time to whip around before a giant paw of a hand grasps the collar of his shirt, jerking him up so roughly that he drops his pocket knife.

“Get off’a me, asshole!” he snaps, shoving at the massive arm holding him to no avail. Only then does he look up at the face belonging to the hulking man in front of him.

His throat goes dry. This isn’t the guy who’d shouted at him. That guy’d had a beard,light-colored hair. This guy in front of him is clean shaven, his dark brown hair slicked down, with a scar twisting from his mouth to his jaw. That scar twitches as the guys mouth cocks into a smirk, deprecating as he drags his gaze up and down Brock’s body.

“Telling me to get off of you when you’re the one fucking with my bike?” he growls, shaking Brock like he’s nothing more than a doll. Brock grips the guy’s forearm on instinct as his head snaps back and forth painfully, his hands slipping on the smooth leather of the guy’s jacket.

“Thought it was somebody else’s,” he chokes out, shoving at the guy’s arm again. It’s like shoving at an oak tree…

“Oh and that’s supposed to make it all better?” the man hisses. His fist tightens on Brock’s shirt, and Brock feels thick muscle shift under his jacket. This guy’s gonna tear him to shreds…

“I didn’t do anything!” Brock insists, out of what little sense of self-preservation he has left. “I-I can fix it, like nothing ever—”

“You didn’t do anything or you did something you can fix?” The guy’s voice is mocking now, and Brock flinches from it.

“I-I did something I can fix,” he amends, swallowing thickly. “Real easy, I swear…”

The man scoffs, and Brock shoes scrape along the ground as he’s dragged closer, his toes barely keeping contact with the ground. He can smell the alcohol on the man’s breath now. Not too strong, he’s probably not drunk, but the scent still sends a shiver through him. “How old are you, kid?”

Brock scowls. _Kid_ …again. “I’m twenty,” he snaps. “M’not a kid.”

The man chuckles, deep and resonant, washing more of his sharply scented breath over Brock’s face. The smell is actually pleasant, Brock can’t help but wish he could get a taste of whatever this guy’s been drinking. “Hate to break it to you, but twenty makes you a fucking kid to me,” he scoffs. “Can’t even drink like a man.”

“Course I can!” Brock growls, shoving his arm against the guy’s chest this time. No reaction, except a widening of the guy’s smirk.

“Let it go, kid, a little scrap like you isn’t gonna do shit to me.”

Brock sets his jaw in a snarl, but there’s a glint in the man’s eyes that silences what was surely going to be a brilliant retort. Green eyes, Brock finds now that he’s got a closer look. Green eyes gliding over his face, down his neck, and finally fixing on his own. He only manages to hold that penetrating gaze for a few seconds before he has to blink rapidly, his eyes darting to the side. He feels naked under those eyes.

“Can’t even look at me,” the man muses. The anger’s gone from his voice, completely replaced by that smooth mocking. “You must be feeling guilty.”

“I told you I’d fix your bike,” Brock mutters, trying his luck. If he can just get out of here without a bashed-in skull, he’ll count himself lucky for once. “Just let me do that and I’ll leave.”

“And what if I don’t want you running off?”

The words are murmured so close to Brock’s face that he can feel them being breathed onto his skin. Out of nowhere, his heartrate picks up. That’s not mocking, that’s teasing…

Hell, it may even be flirting.

“Look at me.”

It’s an order, not a suggestion, and, of their own accord, Brock’s eyes instantly flick back to the green ones above him. He licks his lips when he finds they’ve gone dry. Just when he thinks he can speak again, his voice catches in his throat because that broad hand releases his collar in favor of cupping the back of his neck, firm pressure still keeping Brock pushed up onto the tips of his toes.

The man’s smirking now, smirking in a way that has Brock’s heart skipping a beat and his eyes going wide. When the guy leans down, Brock’s lips go lax, expecting something that never comes.

“What if I said…” the man starts, crowding in closer to Brock so the heat from his body radiates between them. “That I want you to get down on your knees, and show me just how sorry you are?”

Brock’s breathing is uneven now, shallow and gasping, and there’s a heat and swelling inside his pants that he knows all too well. Shit, this guy isn’t exactly unattractive. Brock’s not sure he has a type, but if he did, this guy would probably be it.

“G-guess I’d be obliged to apologize to you…” he murmurs, finally finding his voice, though his better judgement lags behind. The grin the man flashes sends a thrill down Brock’s spine, his clammed-up hands slipping more on the leather he’s gripping tightly to.

Before he can say anything else, or even think twice, that broad hand on the back of his neck is shoving him to the ground, where he barely manages to catch himself, wincing when pain shoots through his cut palm.

“Here?!” he hisses. He figured the guy would take him behind the bar, maybe into a bathroom. Not here, not in full view of the highway and anyone who may happen to be walking through the parking lot…

“Here was fine when you were trying to steal my bike, but now you wanna get shy?” the guy chuckles, sending a shiver through Brock. The man’s hand goes to his crotch, and Brock swallows thickly when he sees the rather impressive bulge he’s palming there. “Think it’s better to be a thief rather than a slut?”

Heat rushes into Brock’s cheeks as he pouts up at the man, but his response dies on his tongue when the man steps closer, forcing Brock’s back to press against the motorcycle behind him. 

“You know what to do with this, don’t you, slut?” he purrs as he unzips his pants, pulling out his cock. Brock can’t help but suck in a little breath at the size of it, easily bigger than any he’s seen before. What else should he expect from a guy over six feet tall…

“Yeah…” he mumbles, glancing up at the man again, but when he raises his hand it just gets slapped away.

“I don’t want your hands,” the man smirks. “I want your mouth. Think you can manage that, pretty boy?”

“C-course.” Brock curses his own stuttering, but the man just chuckles, cupping the back of Brock’s neck again to guide him forward. Brock doesn’t hesitate to open his mouth, wrapping his lips around the man’s cock with a throaty purr. 

“Not bad,” the man murmurs, his hands moving to the sides of Brock’s head, threading through his hair. Brock hums again, lifting his eyes to those pale green ones. Brock’s good at this, he knows he is, and the man’s faint groan when he starts sucking, bobbing his head slowly up and down, just confirms it for him.

He can’t help being a little timid at first, only because he’s not used to having a cock this big in his mouth. He only manages about half, but he does his damnedest for what he can get in, sucking and licking and moaning when the guy’s hands pull at his hair, just hard enough to mix pain into the pleasant shivers rolling down his spine.

“I think you can do better than that.” The hands in Brock’s hair turn painful as he looks up a the man, wincing when that tight hold prevents him from moving. “Hold still.”

Brock barely has a moment to prepare himself before the man’s pushing deeper into his mouth, down his throat, impossibly deep until the stretch begins to burn…

He can’t, he can’t do it. He tries to whimper but only manages to gag wetly around the man’s cock, squeezing his eyes shut when they start to water.

He can’t—

“Look at me.”

Immediately Brock’s eyes raise, tears spilling over as he gags again, the sound muffled by the pressure in his throat. His head’s spinning as he tries and fails to draw in a full breath, trembling as the man’s fingers card through his hair. Just when he thinks he’s going to pass out, the man pulls back, still holding Brock’s head as he coughs and gags pitifully, forcing a deep breath into his aching throat. 

“I knew you could do better.”

Brock glances up, letting out a few more weak coughs. “I’ve never—” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I’ve never…not like that…”

“And yet look how well you did.” The man pets Brock’s hair, incongruously gentle, and Brock feels himself shudder again as his gaze flicks back and forth between green eyes. “I bet you’ll do even better on a second try.”

Brock hesitates, his teeth sinking into his lip. And yet when the man tells him to open his mouth again he obeys immediately, his eyes shutting as the thick length engulfs his mouth again. 

This time the man doesn’t just hold him down. Instead, he starts to thrust, shallow and slow at first, not quite brushing the back of Brock’s throat each time. Hands stroke his hair, his neck, his shoulders, and Brock finds himself relaxing. When the man pushes his cock deeper, still almost methodical in his slowness, Brock doesn’t tense, just looks up and tries to keep breathing, keep relaxed so his throat can take the penetration. His hands grip the man’s thighs, but he’s not pushing away, just feeling muscle move deliciously under his hands.

“Good boy,” the man purrs. Brock’s moan seems to shock them both.

He can’t believe he’s doing this… He can’t help but think it as he looks up at the man, shuddering at how those eyes stay fixed on him, boring into his own. He can’t believe he’s on his knees, gravel digging into his skin, with a cock down his throat in the middle of a parking lot like a cheap whore. 

There are people nearby, the sounds of their voices shooting a nervous thrill through Brock the goes right to his cock. Yet the man shows no signs that he’s bothered, his thrusts getting faster until his balls are slapping rudely against Brock’s chin with each stroke, until Brock’s damn near sobbing as he fights for breath, tears falling from his eyes and spit dripping from his mouth. 

Dirty, filthy, pathetic, and, _fuck_ , he loves it. Loves every second of it. It’s never been like this before, like he’s floating in his own mind while his whole body trembles with arousal and pain. He can hear himself making noises that he can’t stop, whines and whimpers that would probably be pleas if he could use his mouth properly. The man yanks on his hair again, forcing his head back so he can thrust deeper and Brock moans as he takes him. He can feel every inch of his body in excruciating detail and yet he can’t, like it’s not his anymore. Like it belongs to this man who’s using him, abusing him, and who just happens to be kind enough to let him experience the feeling of it all…

The man’s cum hits the back of his throat with no warning and Brock chokes, gagging around the man’s length as more and more hot, thick wetness coats his throat and mouth, too much for him to swallow. When the man suddenly pulls back, Brock has to turn his head away to retch weakly as strips of cum drip from his mouth onto the ground. 

He falls back, colliding with the bike as his legs splay out from underneath him, spread wide around the painful erection still trapped in his jeans. All of a sudden there’s a hand between his legs, big and warm, pulling down his zipper and wrapping around his cock. Brock’s teary eyes find the man’s face, now level with his own, as he whimpers and splutters out something that he’s not even sure is English. But the man seems to understand, because that hand jerks his cock once, twice, and then he’s coming with a sobbing cry, his whole body convulsing and arching with earth-shattering tremors, his hands scrabbling for unsatisfying fistfuls of gravel.

Maybe he blacked out, maybe he just lost track of time, but when he comes back to himself his body’s still shaking, though now there are strong hands petting him. His chest, his arms, his hair…when one brushes his cheek, he can’t help but lean into it.

“There you are.”

Brock blinks his eyes open at the sound of the man’s voice, raising a shaky hand to scrub at his bleary eyes. 

The man’s grinning at him, green eyes glinting again. “Had me worried, kid,” he chuckles. “Never seen anybody go under like that.”

Whatever that means… Brock finds himself staring, no words coming despite how he opens his mouth. Vaguely, he wonders if he’ll even be able to speak after what his throat’s been put through.

“You know where you are, kid?”

Brock manages a weak shrug, glancing to either side just to make sure he actually does know. “Outside some dive bar,” he mumbles, his voice cracked and rough.

“Yeah,” the man nods. “You know your name?”

“Course I do,” Brock mutters. The fuck kinda question… “Brock Rumlow.”

“Nice to meet you, Brock,” the man smirks. Brock barely registers the irony of it. “I’m Jack.”

Brock nods slightly, wiping at something sticky on his chin before pressing a hand into his throbbing forehead. “The fuck did you do to me…”

“Well I thought I was showing you a damn good time,” Jack chuckles. Brock’s got no argument there… “There some place you should be, Brock?”

“Whaddya mean?” he frowns, dragging his hand through his hair as he looks up at Jack. The older man sighs, shaking his head.

“I mean I feel like I should at least drop you off at home after this,” he replies. “So it’d be helpful if you could tell me where home is for you.”

Brock opens his mouth to reply, and then he remembers. His mouth shuts again, and he looks away. “Nowhere.”

It’s silent for a moment as the word settles over Jack. “Shit…”

Brock hazards a glance up again, his stomach twisting at the look of pity on the man’s face. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, defensive, shoving himself to his feet. “I don’t need your—”

Black spots swim in front of his eyes, the whole world spinning until he collides with Jack’s broad chest, groaning weakly. Strong arms surround him, and he can’t even fight it as he’s guided back onto the bike.

“You’re coming home with me.” 

Brock only manages another groan, his head thumping onto Jack’s chest as the man slides onto the bike behind him.

“M’bag…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got your stuff, don’t worry,” Jack replies. Brock feels his legs and arms being wrapped around Jack’s body. “Hold onto me.”

“M’fine—”

“No, you’re not. Now hold onto me.”

Brock hides his pout in the man’s shoulder, gripping tight when the bike revs to life beneath them. Before he knows it, they’re flying down the road, wind whipping against his exposed skin and making him curl tighter against Jack’s broad chest.

His head hurts, he’s tired, and he’s got nowhere else to go. It’s really not worth it to turn down the first person to offer help.

Time slips away from him again, but when the dull roar of the bike goes quiet he blinks his eyes open. They’re in a garage, pretty nondescript aside from how tidy it is. Brock shifts to pull away from Jack, but he doesn’t get very far before the man scoops him up effortlessly, carrying him towards the door.

“Hey!” he yelps, shoving at Jack half-heartedly. “My legs aren’t broken, put me down!”

“Your legs may not be broken, but I don’t want you fainting on me again,” Jack mutters. “Just enjoy it, I don’t usually lug people around like this.”

As if Brock could enjoy being carried around like a child… He mumbles something to that effect, though the words are lost against Jack’s shoulder. And as if being carried wasn’t bad enough, Jack supporting him with one arm while he unlocks the door is a blow to his ego he definitely doesn’t need.

He’s not fucking helpless…and he’s not fucking small! He’s…average… 

Not his fault Jack’s a goddamn giant.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters when Jack sets him down on his kitchen counter. This house is huge, the ceilings are at least fifteen feet, and everything’s spotless, shining. Brock’s doesn’t even want to think about how much the black granite he’s sitting on must cost…

“Not kidding,” Jack replies, digging a bottle of water out of his fridge and setting it down next to Brock. “Drink.”

The bottle’s pleasantly cold in Brock’s hands, and the water’s even more pleasant gliding down his throat. One gulp and suddenly half the bottle’s gone, leaving him gasping when he finally tears himself away.

“Thought you might need that,” Jack smirks. Brock settles on a glare, stifling the retort he’s dying to shoot back. “Now eat.”

The protein bar he pushes into Brock’s hand to punctuate the order seems a little anti-climactic, especially once Brock scans the wrapper. He sighs, pushing the bar off to the side in favor of downing the other half of his water.

“I mean it, you need to eat,” Jack insists, leaning against the counter, now with a beer in his hand. 

Brock sucks his tongue over his teeth, shrugging weakly. “I can’t eat peanuts…” he mumbles.

“What?”

Brock huffs, pressing his fingers into the plastic of the empty water bottle, watching it dimple and crackle. “I said I can’t eat peanuts.”

“What, like you’re allergic or something?”

“Yes, I’m allergic, ok?!” Brock twists the bottle roughly, a few droplets of water spraying up onto his jeans at the plastic crumples under his hands. It’s such a dumb thing… Jack’s little chuckle doesn’t help him feel any better. 

“Not sure what else I have that’s quick,” the older man sighs, making Brock glance up. “Maybe you should go take a shower and I can have something for you by then.”

Brock’s mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again, but still no sound comes out.

Did this guy really just offer to cook for him?!

“You’ve got something clean to change into, right?”

Brock can only blink dumbly until he registers that Jack’s nodding towards his bag. He glances back to where the sad, little thing’s set, dull and tattered against the glinting counter. “I don’t know about clean…” he mutters, his tone wry, forcing himself not to flinch when Jack sighs pityingly.

“You can borrow something of mine, come on.”

“So what, you’re not worried about me passing out anymore?” Brock grumbles as he pushes off the counter.

“Well I do feel a little better now that you’re hydrated,” Jack smirks. Brock’s about to roll his eyes when Jack’s hand distracts him by resting on his back. “But there’s a seat in my shower in case you need it.”

Brock wrinkles his nose. “Who the fuck puts a chair in the shower?” Jack just laughs and ushers him up spiraling stairs, hand on Brock’s back the whole time. 

When they step into the bathroom, off of the master bedroom that’s probably bigger than the house Brock grew up in, it’s Brock’s turn to worry he might faint. The whole room is paneled in black and white stone—marble, Brock’s pretty sure—and the shower’s as big as his old bedroom used to be, silver fixtures gleaming under the fluorescent light.

Opulent is an insult to this place, but Brock’s way more concerned about figuring out just what kind of person hangs out at a shitty biker bar only to come home to something like this.

Jack, for his part, is utterly unperturbed, tapping a panel next to the shower until four jets of water come to life in the shower, crisscrossing as the glass enclosed space beings to fill with steam.

“If that’s too hot, you can adjust the temperature here,” he explains, pointing to a button on the panel. Brock just nods vaguely, looking Jack—a complete stranger now that he thinks about it—up and down.

“Why are you doing this?”

Jack raises an eyebrow as he looks back at Brock. “Doing what?”

“Being nice to me,” Brock clarifies. “Why bother?”

Jack sighs, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes. “Because what happened in that parking lot was stupid,” he says after a moment. “And I shouldn’t have allowed it.” He shakes his head, clearly oblivious to the chill that shoots through Brock. “Take your shower, I’ll set something on the bed for you to wear.”

He leaves without another word, the click of the door shutting behind him somehow deafening in the silence. Brock lips twist into a frown, the chill from moments before now curling to linger in his stomach.

Stupid?

He starts pulling off his clothes methodically, dropping them unceremoniously on the floor, his eyes lost in staring at nothing. His fingers feel numb, he’s not sure how they’re even managing to undress him

It wasn’t stupid…

He steps into the shower, the water scalding his skin and turning him red. Anything to fight the chill that’s still whirling in him, making him shiver.

How can Jack say it was stupid when he liked it. He had liked it, right? It’d seemed like he had, and Brock had liked it. More than liked it… It was the most intense thing he’d ever felt…

He’s shaking more violently now, his hands reaching hopelessly out for something to steady him as a pathetic little sound slinks past his lips. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Why was it stupid? Why…

Why was he stupid?

It hits him out of nowhere, a weight crashing down on him as he gasps for air, a sob wrenching out of him as he crumples to the floor. He takes a shelf down with him, bottles rolling across the floor of the shower as Brock’s sobs turn uncontrollable. He’s still shaking, still shivering, even as burning water pelts his skin. Curling into a ball, knees hugged to his chest, does nothing. He’s still too cold.

He flinches back when the door slams open, crying out when the hot water’s suddenly turned off, leaving him frigid. But then solid arms lock around him, pulling him in closer, and instantly his body goes lax, the relief dragging another sob out of him.

“I’m not stupid…” he chokes out. He doesn’t even know why, he just can’t stop saying it. “I’m not stupid, I’m not—”

“I know,” Jack sighs. “You’re not.”

“You said I was,” Brock argues, sniffling pitifully as he pounds his fists against Jack’s chest. “You said what we did was stupid—”

“Brock.”

The tone of command has crept into the older man’s voice, the same one that had stunned Brock into compliance in that parking lot. He goes still, though he can’t quite help his voice breaking off into a whimper.

“Look at me.”

His head obeys before he can even think to do otherwise, his vision blurred by the wetness in his eyes. But he knows Jack’s looking back at him, and when a warm hand brushes through his hair, he leans into it.

He needs those touches. He doesn’t know why but he does, so much that it hurts.

“You’re not stupid,” Jack murmurs. “I was. I know better than to try that sort of thing with strangers and I knew there’d be fallout from it. It’s not you.”

Brock tries to nod, but another whimper falls past his trembling lips. Jack doesn’t hesitate to pull him in close again, and Brock melts against the man’s chest, into the warm arms wrapped around him, hiding his face in Jack’s shoulder and breathing in the man’s rich, dark scent.

He clings to Jack when the man picks him up, sitting down with him on the bench and just holding him in silence, his hand stroking up and down Brock’s back, quieting his shaking. Brock hates that it works, that somehow this was all he needed, but he doesn’t want to question the warmth rushing through him, filling every vein and bone until he’s dizzy with the feeling.

“I don’t know what happened,” he murmurs when he finally finds his voice, scrubbing at his teary eyes. “It happened so fast, I just…” He trails off. He doesn’t have the words for it. Jack does.

“Informally, it’s called sub-drop,” Jack supplies, making Brock look up. “Happens when you don’t get the attention you need after something intense.”

“Sub?” Brock repeats, frowning. Jack nods.

“Short for submissive.”

Brock’s frown just deepens. “You think I’m submissive?” There’s no way…

“I think you played the role of a submissive tonight. Very well, I might add,” Jack smiles. Something wells up in Brock’s throat, making him lean away. Jack looks…disappointed? “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Brock bites his tongue, suddenly aware that he’s very naked and very much on Jack’s lap. He pulls away, pressing himself into the corner of the shower and pulling his knees up to his chest. “Nothing to be ashamed of…” he repeats. Needing to be coddled because he sucked some guy’s dick feels pretty damn pathetic.

“It’s not.” Jack’s voice is firmer this time, and Brock’s hands tighten where he’s gripping his knees. That voice does something to his body, it’s like instinct the way he reacts to it. “I was impressed, I’ve never seen someone be that responsive, or trusting, right out of the gate.”

Brock’s teeth sink into his lip, the memory of being on his knees rushing back, white hot. How it’d felt to float, letting Jack control him and use him. A shudder rolls through him. Jack must misinterpret it as a shiver, because it’s only a few moments before he wraps a soft towel around Brock’s shoulders. Brock clutches it close, tucking it around his body like a shield, watching Jack move around the shower, gathering the bottles for the shelf he’d knocked over, setting everything carefully back in its place. 

“If this is what being a sub is like then I don’t think I want it.” Why he says it, he can’t be sure.Maybe it’s the embarrassing tightness and heat in his cheeks or the stinging in his eyes. Maybe it’s the fear turning his stomach. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s not sure he could take going through this awful rollercoaster again, flying so high only to crash—

A hand reaches out to cup his chin, nudging his head up until he can’t help but meet Jack’s gaze. Green eyes search his face, and Brock’s breath hitches when the man’s thumb strokes along his jaw.

“I wasn’t fair to you tonight,” Jack murmurs. “I should’ve put a stop to what we were doing when I saw how you were reacting, but I was too focused on enjoying myself. That was reckless, and now it’s hurt you.”

Brock’s eyes are wide, and even though his lips are open, no sound comes out. If Jack’s smile is anything to go by, he’s more than pleased with the spell he seems to be casting.

“I don’t want you to be obligated,” he continues. “But if we ever did something like that again, I’d be more careful. You’d feel safe, and you’d be taken care of afterwards.”

Brock nods slightly, his breath catching again when Jack’s hand trails down his arm. “I-I don’t know anything about you…” How is he supposed to trust a stranger?

“And I don’t know anything about you,” Jack grins. “But we’d have time to learn, if you decided to try this with me.”

“Try what, exactly?”

“You being my submissive,” Jack explains, and Brock feels his face go red. “Me being your Dominant. I’d let you stay here, and we’d work out a mutually beneficial, sexual relationship.”

“Doesn’t seem all that mutual when you’re putting me up,” Brock mutters. He can’t believe Jack would let him stay here just for sex. But even more, he can’t believe he’s actually considering willingly exchanging sex for a place to stay. But Jack’s easily the best option he’s seen…

Maybe he finally is that desperate.

“Well I guess I’m just magnanimous like that,” Jack grins. “If you say no, or if at anytime you decide you want out, I’ll gladly give you some cash and find you another place to live.”

This isn’t real life.Or at least, it’s certainly not Brock’s real life. He doesn’t have the good fortune of just happening to stumble into the arms of rich guys ready to hand over their money. There’s no way this is real life.

“Take the night to think it over,” Jack murmurs. “We can talk over some more details tomorrow.”

Brock can’t help it, the words tumble out. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’ve got to be, you can’t be serious—”

“I am.” The finality in Jack’s tone leaves Brock taken aback. “Serious as a heart attack.”

“Why?”

Jack chuckles, sighing fondly as he looks Brock over. “Guess I’ve just got a weakness for pretty boys down on their luck.”

Brock scoffs again, shaking his head, but bites his tongue. No need to say the wrong thing and ruin his chances. “You gonna let me shower now?” he mutters. 

“If you think you can handle showering now,” Jack smirks. Brock rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I think I’m good,” he nods, pushing himself up with the towel still wrapped around him. Jack stands as well, his movements fluid in a way Brock couldn’t hope to emulate.

“I think you’re good, too,” he murmurs, voice lowered to a purr that has Brock chewing his lip. “Think you can manage this contraption by yourself?”

“It’s just a fucking shower,” Brock shrugs.

“One that took me about a month to figure out,” Jack replies. Brock huffs, leaning out of the shower and giving Jack just enough time to get out as well before mimicking the pattern of buttons Jack had showed him earlier. The shower comes to life and Brock tosses his towel out, cocking an eyebrow at Jack, who has the grace to look impressed as Brock turns in the shower’s streams.

“I’ll leave you to it, and make sure you get that hand clean, the last thing you need is an infection,” Jack chuckles, the door shutting behind him moments later. Brock lets his eyes close, warm water washing over him, trailing away with all the filth from his last few days on the run.

He wouldn’t have to worry anymore if he’s with Jack. No one would risk fucking with that beast of a man. No matter how far he runs, he’s not gonna be guaranteed that same protection anywhere else…

He smiles weakly, opening his eyes to scan the marble around him.

He could do a hell of a lot worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took an eternity, I'm kinda flying blind on this fic. Hope you enjoy!

Brock hasn’t slept this well in…possibly his whole life.

Jack gave him the spare bedroom—one of them, at least—and Brock wasted absolutely no time in spread-eagling out across the mattress, groaning appreciatively at the soft give under his body. Infinitely better than the hard twin bed he’d grown up with, nevermind the dirt, grass, and concrete he’s been sleeping on recently. He’d been lost to a dreamless sleep in a matter of seconds.

When he finally tumbles back into consciousness, the clock on the wall and the sunlight assaulting his eyes through the window tell him it’s eleven the next morning. He yawns noisily, scrubbing sleep from eyes as he kicks off the blanket and swings his legs over the side of the bed, his toes digging luxuriously into the soft rug laid out on the wooden floor. 

He’s got on Jack’s shirt, a tent of dark grey silk hanging off him and reaching down to his mid-thigh. Jack had offered him a matching set of pants as well, but they hadn’t even come close to fitting him, so Brock had swallowed his pride and not bothered. 

He doesn’t bother again now as he stands and stretches, his stomach loudly protesting its emptiness. 

“Yeah, yeah, be patient,” he mutters back, sleepily stumbling towards the door. Makes sense he should find Jack, his…whatever Jack is to him now. Benefactor? He snorts. That’s a formal way of putting it. Sugar daddy’s probably more accurate, no matter how Brock wants to grimace at the idea.

The hallway is silent, aside from Brock’s carpet-muffled footfalls, as he wanders his way towards the stairs, peeking into the doors he passes by. Another bedroom, what looks like a library, and a couple more rooms with nothing at all in them.

Guess that what happens when a guy buys a house five times to big for him…

Near the end of the hall, he passes a room set up like an office and smirks when he sees Jack working at a huge, intricately carved desk in a crisp white button-down that’s a far cry from the leather jacket and tshirt he’d had on the night before. He’s even got glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

Brock smirks. He can’t lie; the nice-and-tidy teacher look is kinda hot.

He considers rolling up the sleeves of his oversized nightshirt, but, as he glances down at how his fingers barely peek out from the sleeves, he thinks better of it. For good measure, he unbuttons the shirt a little more too, and lets it slip off one shoulder. 

If he’s gonna do this, he’s not gonna be half-assed about it. 

Jack glances at up, peering over his glasses, as soon as Brock steps into the room, a little smirk coming to the older man’s face. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Brock wrinkles his nose. And here he was trying to be inviting… “Morning,” he mutters, folding his arms across his chest as he leans against the doorframe. “You got coffee in this place?”

“In fact I do.” Jack replies, smirk still resolutely in place. “I was just about to go get myself another cup.”He looks back down at his laptop screen again, tapping a few more keys before getting up. “I assume you know your way to the kitchen?”

Brock nods, rolling his eyes as he slinks out of the room, arms still crossed. Jack follows close behind all the way down the stairs. Close enough for Brock to catch the woody scent of his cologne. 

“Go sit,” Jack says, his glasses tucked in the front pocket of his shirt now. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” Brock mutters, flopping down at the kitchen table, not too far from those elegant black counters. 

“Not hiding any other allergies, right?” 

Brock just sends Jack a look, pursing his lips at the grin on the man’s face. Jack gives up staring after a moment, turning his attention to the coffee pot. “You want milk in your coffee?”

“No.” Brock says it too quickly. The knowing look Jack flashes out of the corner of his eye tells him as much. He bites down on the inside of his cheek, slouching down in his chair.

“How about sugar?”

Brock feels heat rising on his face. “…No.” 

His gaze stays pointedly fixed on the opposite wall until Jack sets a mug down in front of him, milky brown liquid looking back from within the ceramic.

“You’re welcome,” the older man says. Brock mumbles a thank you as he pulls the mug towards him, inhaling the rich scent before taking a drink.

Best coffee he’s had in his life and he’s not even surprised. He kicks his feet up on the chair across from his and settles in with another sip.

“You know, if we’re going to do this, lying won’t be acceptable.”

Brock’s eyes flick up to Jack’s. “Whaddya mean?”

Jack chuckles. “You remember the…relationship offer I made last night, right?”

As if he could forget. “Yeah…”

Jack nods, sitting down in the chair next to Brock’s, suddenly serious. Brock straightens his back a little in response. “Well, one of the things I can’t have is a submissive who lies to me.”

Brock skin flames at the word. _Submissive_. He’s still not sure how he feels about it, but one word isn’t gonna scare him off. “Well if you can see right through me anyhow, what’s it matter?” he mutters, his fingertips drumming without rhythm along the side of his mug.

“It matters because I don’t want to have to worry about whether or not I’m reading you right when we’re in the middle of something that could be possibly dangerous.”

Brock raises an eyebrow, trying to look as if his heart didn’t just start pounding in his ears at the suggestion. Jack smiles.

“You like the sound of that?”

Brock shrugs, looking down into his coffee. Of course he does. He’s always liked the sound of ‘dangerous’. “Not sure what it means…”

“It could me me choking you, or tying you up, or playing with some kind of weapon.” Like he’s reading off a goddamn grocery list. Like Brock’s head isn’t spinning with the possibilities. Jack chuckles dryly after a moment, breaking the spell. Almost. “Like I said, if we were doing something like that, I would need to know that you’re being honest when I ask whether something’s too much, so I don’t push you too far and hurt you. So whatever it is that makes you lie—pride, fear, whatever—we need to learn how to get you to swallow it, before we start taking risks.”

Brock can only nod dumbly, and his face frozen is what he knows is a ridiculous, deer-in-headlights look. Jack breaks into a grin soon enough.

“Am I scaring you?”

“No!” Brock snaps, but it just makes Jack laugh again.

“I wouldn’t blame you if I was,” he shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Not everyone’s cut out for this kind of thing.”

“Well I’m not fucking scared,” Brock mutters. And yet, he can only hold Jack’s gaze for a few seconds before he has to look away. 

“I almost believe you.” There’s just the barest hint of…something in Jack’s deadpan. Disappointment? Sadness? Whatever it is, it’s enough to make Brock hazard a glance back up.

“You change your mind or something?” he asks, eyes narrowing. “Last night all you could talk about was how great I was.”

“You were great last night,” Jack smiles. Brock tries to quash the heat the rushes through him at those words, but it escapes as a shaky breath. Long fingers capture Brock’s attention as they drift around the rim of Jack’s mug, and the memory of having those fingers twisted in his hair only adds to the heat, until he’s shivering. “I’m just worried you’re getting in a little over your head.”

Brock frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that it seems like there’s a lot you haven’t experienced yet,” Jack chuckles dryly. “Which puts a hell of a lot of pressure on me as the one who’d be introducing you to it all.”

“So what? You don’t want the responsibility?” Brock mutters, his voice as bitter as the taste of rejection on his tongue. 

“That’s not what I—” 

“Yeah right.” Brock just keeps staring into his mug, picking at a tiny chip in the rim. What’s the point of even making the offer if you’re just gonna immediately take it back…

“Brock. Look at me.”

Just like the night before, Brock’s whole body goes stiff at the order. And, just like the night before, it’s not long before he obeys, his eyes wandering up to the green ones watching him so unrelentingly. Once again he’s naked under those eyes.

“I don’t mind that you’re inexperienced,” Jack says, with a bluntness to his tone that Brock actually finds himself trusting. The little smile that comes to Jack’s face has Brock hiding his own in another sip of coffee. “In fact, I rather enjoy breaking in new pets.”

That just about sends Brock through the roof. He chokes on his coffee, coughing violently enough to warrant a broad hand reaching over to pet his back.

And if that isn’t the absolute last thing he needs right now. The heat reaches right through the thin silk to his skin, cologne and coffee and the scent of Jack that he’s already learned weaving around him…

Hell, he might already be broken.

He rubs his sleeve—well, Jack’s sleeve—across his mouth as his lungs clear for air, crossing his legs to hide the semi he’s sporting as Jack’s hand drifts down to settle on the small of his back.

“Fuck, you’re killin’ me, kid…”

“ _I’m_ killing _you_?” Brock mutters. Jack laughs, low and warm, sending sparks through Brock’s body that center right where Jack’s hand is still resting on him. “So if you like…my type so much,” he adds, staring down into his cup again. “What’s the issue?”

“Not really an issue,” Jack shrugs. “We just need to have both eyes open as we go into this. We both have to want it.” That hand finds Brock’s chin now, turning his head until they’re facing each other. “You do still want it, right?”

Brock can’t help but suck in a little breath when Jack’s fingers wander along his jaw, the older man’s eyes scanning his face. His grip tightens on the mug in his lap, his hands going a little clammy against the smooth surface. “Yeah,” he murmurs, blood rising in his cheeks at the squeak in his voice.

“Are you sure?” Jack asks. “Remember, I can’t have you lying.”

Brock’s teeth clamp down on his lip, and a thrill sparks in his stomach at the way Jack’s gaze immediately darts to his mouth. “I’m pretty sure,” he replies. “I mean, I had a good time last night, all things considered, so why not?”

Jack smiles. “You did seem to enjoy yourself,” he chuckles. “Was that really the first time you’d done something like that?”

Brock rolls his eyes. “I’ve given blowjobs before, if that’s what you mean.”

“It’s part of what I mean.” Jack’s fingers trail down Brock’s throat, and Brock tips his head up to expose more of the line of his neck. If the darkening of Jack’s eyes is anything to go by, he appreciates the gesture. “You did say something along the lines of, I’ve never done this before. What exactly did that mean?”

“Oh…” Brock has a vague memory of saying that, though in his defense there had been an awful lot happening at the time. “I-I just meant no one had ever held my head down l-like that.”

Jack hums, smiling as he nods. “Hope it wasn’t too overwhelming.”

“It wasn’t!” Brock says quickly, chewing the inside of his cheek again when Jack raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. The floor suddenly becomes fascinating. “M-maybe I’m kinda into being overwhelmed…”

It’s quiet for a moment, but it’s not long before Jack’s fingers are tapping just under Brock’s chin, coaxing it up again. “That’s good,” he murmurs. “It’s good that you have a tolerance for that.”

“More than a tolerance,” Brock mumbles. “You did somethin’ weird to me.”

“Weird?”

Brock nods, shrugging. “Like I was outta my body or something. Kinda like floating.” He shakes his head, slumping back in his chair. “You got a fancy word for that, too?”

“Subspace.”

Naturally. “What’s that mean?”

“It’s just a word for that kind of out-of-body experience subs can have during a scene,” Jack explains. “I’ve heard it’s quite pleasant.”

“Guess that’s one word for it,” Brock sighs. ‘Pleasant’ sounds like one hell of an understatement to him.

“That’s the reason you ‘dropped’, so to speak, once it was all over,” Jack continues. “You have to be taken down from that kind of high carefully. Usually I’m pretty good at that, but I managed to fuck up last night.”

“I noticed,” Brock mutters. It takes a moment, but soon enough they’re smiling, Brock letting out a little laugh. What even is his life anymore… 

“So,” Jack chuckles. “You’ve never deepthroated anyone…you ever been fucked?”

Right back to reality. Brock feels himself go red up to the tips of his ears. “I-I’ve messed around…”

“And what does messing around mean?”

Brock huffs, rolling his eyes. The heat under his skin doesn’t fade. “Trading blowjobs and handjobs, I guess,” he mutters. “I let some guys finger me…”

“Did you use protection?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

Brock frowns at Jack’s apparent unwillingness to believe him. “For blowjobs, yeah, most of the time,” he insists. “When I was in school, they had condoms at the nurse’s office, and then once I graduated I could get them from clinics and stuff. Better than dealing with a mess or having to worry about getting sick.”

“Smart,” Jack nods, smirking slightly. “I still think you should get checked out by a doctor, to be sure you’re healthy.”

Brock rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure, whatever,” he mutters. He’s never exactly liked doctors, but he doesn’t hate them. Jack’s still smirking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jack chuckles. “I’m just imagining you pulling your high school boyfriends under the bleachers to…mess around.”

“Don’t be gross,” Brock scoffs. He was better than under the bleachers. Empty classrooms had been his go-to. “And they weren’t boyfriends.”

“Not the dating type?”

“Never,” Brock laughs. “I told you, just messing around. For fun, or whatever.”

“That’s adorable.”

Brock huffs. “What?”

“You, sneaking around with boys to get off,” Jack chuckles. “It’s adorable.”

“What makes you think all of it was sneaking around?” Brock mutters. Quite unexpectedly, Jack raises an eyebrow, intrigued. Brock lets himself smirk. “I always sat at the back of the classroom…I’d jerk guys off sometimes, or let them do the same to me.” He leans on the table, closer to Jack. “One time I let a guy finger me, too.”

Jack nods, smirking as well now. “You ever let anybody get rough with you?” Brock falters, and Jack sees it. “What is it, kid?”

Brock forces himself to shrug. They’re talking about sex, nothing else. “I guess I never really thought about it,” he murmurs. “I mean…if I was making out with a guy I’d let him get grabby, or hold me down. One guy…” He trails off, managing a little laugh at the memory. Maybe this submissive thing runs deeper than he’d expected. “One guy put his hand around my neck while we were grinding on each other. I kinda liked that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jack nods. “So you’ve always been a risk-taking slut, have you?”

Brock’s body lights up as soon as Jack says it, and he can’t help nodding. “I-I guess,” he shrugs. The word slut’s for show, he can tell, but a twisting in his stomach tells him it’s true. He may have never gotten fucked, but he’d done damn everything else…with any guy that would take him. “I never did anything like blowing someone in an open parking lot, though.”

“That is up there in risk,” Jack agrees. 

“You ever done it before last night?”

“Occasionally,” Jack grins. “But if I’m going to fuck someone in public, I usually plan it out in advance with my partner.”

Brock snorts. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Planning isn’t about fun,” Jack shrugs. “It’s about safety.”

Safety. Brock could probably use some experience in that area. He sighs, but nods after a moment, draining the rest of his coffee. “So, uh…you’re clean, right? Like, not sick…”

“I wouldn’t have had unprotected sex if I wasn’t.”

Brock can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, nodding slowly. “You been with a lot of people?”

“More than ten, less than twenty,” Jack shrugs. “It’s not easy to find someone willing to do what I like, but most of them ended up being just flings who lasted a few weeks at most.”

“So in…what? A month and a half you’re gonna be sick of me?” Brock grins, to cover the fear that it might actually be true.

“Somehow, I doubt it.” 

Brock hates the warmth that spreads through him when Jack says it. He rolls his head over to glance at Jack, finding nothing but honesty in green eyes. “Oh really?” he smirks. “You resorting to flattery now?”

Jack chuckles, and Brock’s eyes are left to trail the impressive length of the man’s body as he stands, walking with slow, deliberate steps until he’s directly behind Brock’s chair. Brock finds himself sitting up on instinct, but he doesn’t get far before strong hands are squeezing his shoulders and a gruff voice is whispering in his ear.

“I can resort to all sorts of methods when decide I like someone.” 

Heat rushes through Brock’s body, igniting every nerve as he forces out a weak chuckle. He’ll never be able to deny that this guy has one hell of an effect on him. Especially not when those hands are gliding down his arms to his thighs, making his toes curl.

“By the way, you look very nice in my shirt,” Jack purrs. “And I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to be hiding a little something underneath it…” Deft fingers take hold of the silk, slowly, painstakingly gathering so it rides higher up Brock’s thighs. The taut fabric presses Brock’s cock into his stomach, hiding absolutely nothing from Jack’s gaze. “You really never had a cock in that cute little ass of yours?”

“Never,” Brock murmurs, panting a little now, his hands gripping the seat of the chair. Jack chuckles, sultry and dark as his teeth just barely graze Brock’s ear. 

“Lucky me.”

And just like that, those hands are gone, and Brock’s left to reel in their sudden absence, his breath gasping out of him.

“Are eggs ok for breakfast?”

Brock whips around to face Jack, who’s leaning against the counter, perfectly nonchalant. Brock’s mouth is open, but it takes a moment before any sound comes.

“S-sure!” he splutters. Jack just chuckles, and Brock flops against the table the minute the man’s back is turned.

He’s definitely in over his head.

But he’s not sure he’s complaining.

******

Jack puts him through a goddamn ordeal of medical examinations and tests. Poked and prodded in all the most uncomfortable—and frankly, intimate—places he’s got. But at least Jack’s got some kind of private doctor, a rather pretty blond woman, actually, who comes to the house, so Brock doesn’t have to deal with paper gowns on plastic tables. He supposes it’s worth having his clean bill of health confirmed.

Rules are next on the agenda. Jack spoonfeeds him the idea over the course of a few days. Rules for how he’s supposed to act: follow Jack’s orders, call Jack ‘sir’, don’t lie to Jack, let Jack initiate their ‘scenes’, don’t come or even touch himself unless he’s given permission…

That last one is a little hard to swallow, but Jack seems to enjoy watching Brock squirm over the idea. Maybe Brock enjoys the squirming too, he does agree after all.

Then come rules about safewords. Jack drills him on those: green for when he’s ok, yellow if he needs a break, red if he has to stop. Green, yellow, red. Jack promises training to make sure he’s got it down, and, as far as Brock’s concerned, anything that gets Jack’s hands on him is more than worth it.

They hit a bit of a wall when they try to talk about limits. Brock says he can’t imagine anything he wouldn’t want to try and the look on Jack’s face is unforgettable. Even when the older man presses—what about orgasm denial, sensory deprivation, electric shocks, cutting—Brock just shrugs through all the options. He doesn’t want to admit it, but everything Jack lists off just makes his skin tingle. He should probably be concerned about that, but at least with Jack he gets a say in being put through the wringer… 

Jack doesn’t believe him. Doesn’t believe that he could really take it, but Brock still just shrugs. They agree to talk through anything before trying it, and that they should take new things slowly, to find out where Brock’s limits actually are. What he likes, what he doesn’t, what can be used as punishment and what they’ll never do again.

That ‘no orgasm without permission’ rule is starting to get to Brock, especially since Jack won’t touch him. Brock does his best to be inviting, continuing to wear Jack’s shirts, lounging around the house where Jack’s sure to see him, he even brings the guy drinks without being asked.

But that all just backfires into Jack deciding he needs to take Brock out shopping. At an ungodly hour to boot…

“The store will still be there at noon,” Brock mumbles, clamping his hands around the warm coffee mug Jack’s waving under his nose and drinking deeply from it. Jack chuckles, sitting down on the edge of Brock’s bed.

“Maybe so, but since you’re already awake, we might as well go now.”

Brock shoots a glare out of the corner of his eye, but given the choice between coffee and early morning arguing, he’ll choose coffee every time. “Why are we even going? I have clothes.”

“And yet you keep stealing mine,” Jack shrugs, smiling when Brock sends him yet another glare. “Plus I think you need to get out of this house for a little while. You’ve been looking very bored lately.”

Brock huffs. Maybe if Jack would fuck him that wouldn’t be an issue… “Can I at least shower like a civilized person?”

“Of course.”

With that blessing, Brock stumbles his way through what’s vaguely become his morning routine. Coffee, shower, picking through the vast array of self-care products Jack’s got to see what he wants to try today. If he’s gotta wear his ratty old tshirts and jeans, the least he can do is smell nice and have every hair in place while he does it. He can only assume Jack approves, since he’s never once been told to stop.

He kicks his feet up on the dash of Jack’s car—he’s got two aside from his motorcycle—while the older man drives, drumming his fingers on his thighs and smirking through all the mildly annoyed glances Jack sends him. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Jack mutters.

“Or what?” Brock retorts, without even thinking. “You gonna punish me for being bad?”

That earns a smirk. The kind that sends all Brock’s bravado flying right out the window and down the highway behind them. 

“I might do that just because you’re cute.” Jack’s voice is a velvety purr, curling in the pit of Brock’s stomach. “You’ve got no right to be that tempting.”

Brock’s got no response except to slide down in his seat, covering up the arousal flaring between his legs at the thought of just what Jack could do to him. He’s on a hair-trigger these days from not getting any. Jack just laughs again, pleased with his work. 

Brock spends the rest of the drive pouting.

A biker bar, a mansion in the middle of nowhere, and now a fucking boutique in the middle of the nearest city.

Brock’s getting numb to the never ending surprises from this guy. 

Jack has to very nearly drag him out of the car to get him to go anywhere near that bright, streamlined storefront, and they aren’t three steps inside the place before Brock’s ready to run right back out again. 

Every hole in his own clothing starts to burn against his skin.

“Can I wait in the car?” he mumbles, folding his arms over his chest.

“If you didn’t need to be here, I wouldn’t have gotten you out of bed,” Jack sighs. “What’s wrong with you?”

Brock huffs, digging his nails into his arms when he catches people staring at him. “Designer shit gives me hives.”

“You’ve seemed to do just fine wearing my designer shit,” Jack teases. Brock just bites down on his tongue. Finally, Jack relents with a sigh. “You’re here with me, and everyone here knows me. No one’s going to give you any trouble.”

“Right,” Brock mutters. Jack apparently expects him to move. When he doesn’t, it earns an exasperated sigh.

“Go wait in the dressing room,” Jack says, directing him to the alcove that’s named as such by an overhead sign. “I’ll bring you a couple things to try on.”

“Awesome,” Brock sighs. He’s quick about locking himself in one of the little rooms, dropping down on the offered bench as he listens to Jack’s footsteps fade.

Even the changing rooms are fancy, of course. Brock wastes no time in propping his dusty shoes up against the lush cushions scattered on the bench, just to spite them. He slouches against the wall, ignoring the chill against his shoulder blade from where a little hole in the back of his shirt lets the cool plaster press against his skin.

The mirror stares back at him, pointing out his dull colors against the pristine white wall and brilliant pillows. He’s got half a mind to break the damn thing, but that probably wouldn’t earn him any points with Jack. He thumps his head back against the wall, forcing his eyes shut as he waits.

Minutes tick by…

Jack doesn’t return.

Brock tells himself it hasn’t been that long. Jack doesn’t know his sizes or what he likes, he’s probably got to look through a lot of options to come up with anything good. And ugly feeling curls in his stomach anyway.

More minutes. Minutes that seem to be getting longer. Brock’s foot starts vibrating against the bench, kicking off more dust on the pillows. Of course Jack’s still in the store. Where else would he go? He wouldn’t just leave Brock here…

But what’s taking so fucking long?!

At least ten minutes, and Brock can’t sit anymore. The frustratingly small changing room doesn’t provide much room to pace, but he manages.

Jack wouldn’t leave him here, his stuff’s still at Jack’s house. He may not have much to begin with, but Jack wouldn’t just leave him here with nothing…

Brock’s chewing his lip now, ripping off layers of dry skin until he tastes blood, bitter and metallic.

He hadn’t done anything wrong, he just hadn’t wanted to be stared at. He’s never been in a place like this before. 

Jack wouldn’t think he’s ungrateful…

Would he?

If he did, would that be enough to make him leave?

Brock’s hand is slamming against the doorhandle before he can even think to stop himself. People stare once again as he barrels out of the tiny room, but he doesn’t care anymore. 

He can’t see Jack. And he very quickly finds he can’t breathe either.

_It’s fine. It’s fine, he’s just around the corner somewhere._ Brock’s legs are shaky as he tells himself that, over and over, forcing himself not to tear through the damn store at a full sprint.

Jack wouldn’t leave him here, he wouldn’t…

He didn’t.

Brock freezes when he finally rounds a corner and his eyes fix on Jack, who’s peacefully glancing through clothes on a rack. Air rushes back into Brock lungs, almost as quickly as heat rushes into his face. He’s known this guy for a week, and he’s already a wreck over him.

And yet he can’t help but slink the rest of the way over to Jack, his arms folded tight across his chest. Jack looks up soon enough, smiling when he sees Brock.

“You get lonely or something?”

Brock just tightens his arms around himself, looking away when he sees Jack’s face shift from teasing to concern. Lonely. That’s one word for it…

Jack knows.

“Brock, come here.”

Brock’s feet move of their own accord, until he’s close enough to feel the warmth from Jack’s body and smell the scent of his skin. He lets himself breathe deep, grounding himself.

“What’s wrong?”

Brock shrugs. Apparently, that’s not a good enough answer. 

“Brock, tell me what happened.”

He still hasn’t figured out how to refuse an order. “You took too long.”

“I took too long?” 

Brock just nods. He can’t look up at Jack, not even when a hand rubs slowly up and down his back. Stupid. The word rings in his mind. Stupid, desperate—

“Did you think I was going to leave you, pet?”

Jack’s soft voice resounds in Brock’s chest. Pet. He shudders, parting his lips for a little gasp. Jack hasn’t called him that before… Warm lips press softly to his forehead and he swears his knees are going to give out.

Pet. Jack’s pet.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, s-sir.” He just barely hesitates on the honorific. If Jack’s going to call him pet, he should respond in kind. Jack didn’t spend all that time teaching him how pets behave for nothing. “Yes, sir, I thought you were going to leave.”

“Why would you think that?”

Brock shrugs slightly. “Cause of how I was acting,” he mutters, working his toe into the carpet. It sounds ridiculous now.

Jack sighs, and Brock allows his head to be guided up. “I wouldn’t do that to you, not even temporarily to punish you,” Jack says. Brock’s nails ease out from where they’d dug painfully into his arms. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Brock nods slowly, even if there’s still a pang of doubt in his stomach. Jack could mean that now, but things change…

Jack’s hand moving across Brock’s back has a way of silencing those thoughts, sending warmth through him again. “So are you going to go back to the dressing room, or are you going to give me a hand with this?”

Brock hesitates, glancing over the few pieces of clothing Jack’s got thrown over his arm. Neutral colors, pretty nondescript. Good choices if you’re shopping for someone you barely know, but hardly the best options in the store. He smiles, taking a couple of the least offensive pieces from Jack’s arm. “Seems like I should probably take over.”

“By all means,” Jack chuckles.

They stay mostly quiet as Brock wanders through the store, getting more and more comfortable as he goes, especially once Jack tells him he’s got no price limit.

It’s awfully hard to say no to that.

By the time he’s back in the changing room, he’s overflowing with options, and his relationship with the mirror has certainly improved. It takes him a while the work out the sizing, but once he does everything starts fitting perfectly, and the fabrics are soft against his skin as if they’re years-old and worn in, not brand new. He’ll never admit it, but usually new stuff gives him a rash for weeks before everything finally breaks in. The change is welcome.

“How are you doing in there?”

Brock glances up from admiring his ass in a particularly well-fitting pair of jeans towards Jack’s voice coming through the door.

Surely Jack deserves the chance to admire him as well, since he’s paying for it. A smirk creeps onto Brock’s face as he tugs his shirt over his head, suppressing a shiver when his nipples instantly harden in the cool air.

“I’m kinda not sure about how these jeans are fitting,” he replies. “Think you could take a look for me?”

“Sure, come on out.”

Brock huffs, rolling his eyes. Does he have to beat Jack over the head before the guy will even take a hint? “No, you come in here.”

There’s a pause, and for a split second Brock worries he may have been too bossy, but then Jack’s voice comes through the door again. “Is the door unlocked?”

Brock flushes, quickly flipping the latch so the click resounds through the little room. “Yeah.”

As soon as the handle dips down, Brock backs up, clasping his hands behind his back. Jack’s into that, right? The shy look… 

He certainly seems to be, anyway, his eyes crawling along Brock’s body as soon as he enters the room. Brock manages a little smile, but the click of the lock snapping into place again takes his voice away from him. Jack’s broad body fills the small, enclosed space impossibly, and Brock can't help but breathe heavier as Jack moves closer to him.

“They look just fine.”

“What?”

Jack snorts at Brock’s question. “Your jeans,” he clarifies, and Brock’s quick to blush when he realizes his mistake. “The fit looks just fine.”

“Oh…” Brock mutters. “A-are you sure?”

It’s a lame line, but it does the trick, because Jack grins, chuckling as his gaze falls first to Brock’s chest and then lower. “Seems like it to me,” he nods, his hands taking hold of Brock’s waist, pulling him in closer. “Though I am only getting one view…”

Before Brock can respond, Jack spins him around, and Brock barely manages to brace himself and avoid slamming his face into the wall. Jack’s hands cover Brock’s own soon enough, pressing them down.

“Keep them there.”

Brock nods, words still a lost cause as Jack’s hands slide down his arms, then along the bare expanse of his back. Jack’s knee nudges his legs further apart, right before a hand presses between his legs, forcing a gasp out of him.

“This what you’ve been wanting, pet?”

“Yes, sir,” Brock whispers, biting down on his lip to muffle a whimper when Jack’s hand presses more firmly.

“Hush,” Jack admonishes, and Brock just bites harder when Jack’s breath ghosts against his neck. “We don’t want anyone overhearing, do we?”

“No, sir,” Brock murmurs, his hands balling into fists. Jack’s grip finds his ass next, squeezing hard enough that Brock whimpers again, this time in surprise.

“You that desperate for it?” Jack chuckles. “Is that why you’ve been parading yourself around my house like a pretty little peacock?”

Brock’s distracted from his reply by Jack’s hand moving around to grip his cock through the suddenly too rough denim. His hand flies up to cover his moan, but Jack’s not about to tolerate that.

“I told you not to move, pet,” he hisses, low and dangerous. Brock’s hand slams back into place on the wall.

“Sorry…”

“What was that?”

“S-sorry, sir,” Brock amends, light-headed now from breathing heavy. Jack chuckles, his teeth finding the shell of Brock’s ear, nipping just hard enough that Brock can’t fight a squeak.

“Looks like you still have a lot to learn about how to behave for me,” he sighs. “But I’ll have to deal with that at home. Have you chosen everything you want?” 

Brock nods immediately, mainly because as far as he’s concerned, they need to be home yesterday. Jack pulls away, leaving cold spots where his hands had been. 

“Then get everything together and come out dressed.”

“Yes, sir,” Brock nods again, slowly turning around. “Can I…” He trails off, nervous, but Jack just waits. “C-can I wear some of the new stuff?”

“Of course you can” Jack nods, allowing a smile to curl across his lips. Brock smiles back, just barely as Jack’s hand rests on his hip again. “Keep these on. They suit you.” He punctuates the order with a swat against Brock’s ass, hard enough, even through the denim, to make Brock suck in a pained breath.

The drive home is painful too, though Brock’s pretty sure he’s the only one suffering, especially when Jack’s hand sneaks over into his lap, hot and heavy and perfect against his cock, until Jack starts to squeeze too hard.

“You remember your safewords, right, pet?”

Brock squeaks out a little “yes”, caught between pulling away from the pain and pressing into the only satisfying touch he’s gotten in too long.

“Good,” Jack nods, oblivious to the pouting glare Brock sends him. “We’ll be testing how well you can use them once we’re home.”

Brock just nods again, gasping for breath as soon as Jack releases him, leaving him with an aching hard-on and no relief. 

The thought of what Jack might do to him keeps him that way for the rest of the drive, thrumming with possibility.

Jack makes him carry all the bags in once they’re back at the house and waits by the car to make sure he doesn’t miss one. With the last one, Jack finally follows him in, locking the front door behind them and heading into the main living room. “Follow me.”

Brock obeys, setting down the last bag and walking quietly behind Jack.

“Stop.”

Brock goes still instantly, left in the middle of the room while Jack makes his way to an armchair, where he gracefully sits himself down, completely at ease.

“Strip.”

Brock can’t help but hesitate, but when Jack cocks an eyebrow at him, he quickly pulls off his shirt and pushes down his jeans and underwear, nudging them out of the way. Jack’s eyes are on him, electricity glinting on his skin, looking up and down the length of his body, fixing on his still hard cock.

Jack’s hand waves him closer, and Brock obeys with unsteady steps, his knees rubbery. Jack won’t stop staring.

“You certainly are pretty specimen,” Jack chuckles once Brock’s standing in front of him, all bare, tan skin for Jack’s viewing. Brock’s lip is between his teeth again as Jack’s hand rests on his belly, just for a moment before gliding up his chest and pausing over his nipples. “Very cute,” he smirks, pinching the already hard buds between his fingers, making Brock gasp. He wants to say something, wants to know what he should say. There’s got to be something, anything, but no words come. All he can do is swallow thickly and force himself to keep breathing as Jack’s hand slides lower again.

“But this little thing has been causing you some trouble, hasn’t it?” Jack sighs, his fingertip just barely grazing the length of Brock’s cock. Keeping his hips from jolting forward into the feathery touch is damn near impossible, even with the embarrassment burning under his skin. “Answer me, pet.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Brock manages. His hands are clasped behind his back, wringing nervously.

“You’ve been tempted to touch yourself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope you haven’t given in to that temptation.”

“No, sir.” Not that he hadn’t wanted to. _Fuck_ had he wanted to, but Jack had said no pleasure without permission and that meant no jerking off. And since Jack has a nasty habit of showing up unannounced, it hadn’t been worth the risk to try and sneak it.

“Good,” Jack nods. “Now, if only you trying to follow orders hadn’t resulted in you becoming a desperate little slut.”

Brock flinches, dropping his eyes to the floor. It’s not his fault he has a sex drive!

“That little display in the store was illuminating. Showed me you aren’t getting what you need from me.” That gets Brock’s attention, enough to make his raise his eyes. Jack smiling at him as he leans back in his chair, the kind of smile that has shivers going down Brock’s spine. Dangerous. Brock’s blood sings.

“W-what do I need, sir?” It sounds much worse out loud, but Jack smiles anyway.

“I think you need some practice in doing what you’re told, and taking only what I decide to give you. Because I’ll always give you what you need, pet, even if it’s not what you think you want.”

Brock’s throat goes dry as Jack begins to roll up his sleeves, revealing dark ink etched into his forearms. He’s never seen Jack in short sleeves before, he never would’ve guessed what was hiding underneath. “Get on all fours.”

Brock’s legs give out, and the wooden underneath is unforgiving. When he pushes himself onto his hands and knees, Jack hums appreciatively. 

“Not bad, but it could be better,” he purrs. “Arch your back, and spread your legs.”

Brock does, heat rushing into his face when he feels his ass spread, exposing his hole to the cool air. Jack nods again, the sound of his footsteps ringing off the walls as he walks around Brock. His eyes are burning Brock again, the heat going right to his cock, heavy between his legs.

“Very nice,” Jack chuckles. Brock’s eyes flick up when he hears the sound of Jack’s belt being pulled off. Jack smirks at him, folding the belt over in his hand. Brock’s skin goes cold. No way… “Let’s see how well you can hold that posture under a little duress.”

A whimper slips past Brock’s lips, unbidden, and he can’t fight the tremor that runs through him too. The belt’s thick, and if Jack can lift him he can only imagine what his swing is like…

Jack’s kneeling down next to him before he can catch his breath, a hand resting on Brock’s back. “You alright?”

Brock can’t reply, his shoulders hunched as he looks up at Jack, searching his green eyes for mercy. He finds it, and finds a shaky gasp too. 

“You need to breathe for a moment?” Jack asks, stroking up Brock’s back to rubs softly against his tense shoulders. As soon as Brock nods, Jack sighs. “You remember the color for that?”

“Yellow,” Brock whispers. 

“Very good,” Jack nods. He’s sitting back on his heels now, and presses Brock’s lower back until he does the same. “What do you need, pet?”

Brock shakes his head. “I don’t know…”

“How about I tell you what I’m planning, and you can tell me if you’re alright with it?” Jack waits until Brock nods before continuing. “I’m going to start off with spanking you, using my hand, and you’re going to hold that position I had you in. I’ll start off with ten, but every time you break that position I’ll add another. Does that sound alright?”

Brock bites his lip, but nods slowly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Spanking, he can take that. His cock even twitches at the idea. “What about the belt?”

“Once you’ve taken the first ten, or however many it ends up being, if I think you need more, I’ll use the belt. It helps to be primed first by something not as extreme,” Jack shrugs. “How does that sound?”

Brock hesitates again. He can’t lie… “I-I’m not sure I’ll be able to take it.”

“Well you remember your safewords,” Jack smiles, his fingers brushing back Brock’s hair. “I’ll ask you if you’re ok to take more. If you’re not, we’ll stop.”

Brock glances up, chewing his lip when he finds Jack’s soft green eyes looking back at him. “Ok,” he murmurs. 

Jack smiles, running his fingers through Brock’s hair once more. “Then get back on your hands and knees, pet.” Jack’s hand slides down Brock’s back as he shifts back into the right position, rubbing over his lower back, then his ass. “Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

He’s not. Not even close.

Brock cries out the second Jack’s hand comes down against his ass, his arms buckling as he shies away from the impact. 

“One down, ten more to go.”

Brock whips around. “What?!” Jack had said ten—

“You broke your posture,” Jack explains, nodding towards Brock’s shaky arms. “That’s an extra hit, remember?”

Brock’s eyes widen, but instantly he locks back into the right position. This time, when Jack’s hand comes down, he manages to hold it, even though he cries again. Jack’s pulling no punches.

“Very good, pet,” Jack smiles, his hand rubbing excruciatingly soft against Brock’s ass. “What number was that?”

“Two,” Brock answers. Another. Brock’s reduced to a squeal. “Three!”

“Good boy,” Jack murmurs. “You remember why you’re getting this punishment, right?”

It takes a moment, Brock has to wrack his brain, but the answer tumbles forward soon enough. “Because I’ve been trying to force you to give me what I want, instead of trusting you to give me what I need, sir.”

“Well done,” Jack smiles. “You’ve been desperate instead of being patient. You may want to just get off, but what you need is discipline, and that’s what I’m giving you now. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Count for me, pet.”

_Smack_. “Four.” A tremor runs through him, but he stays in place. Jack tells him he’s good, and he whimpers.

_Smack_. “Five!” Jack says nothing, but the gentle brush of his hand over Brock’s reddening skin tells Brock what he needs to know. His body’s back to singing.

_Smack_. “S-six!” Brock’s gasps for breath, his skin bright with soreness, his knees aching. But Jack hums in approval. He’s good, he’s taking it.

Jack’s hand lands harder this time and Brock shrieks as he’s jolted forward, thrown off balance as his hands slip on the floor. Jack catches him, but provides no refuge, immediately pushing him back into position.

“How many was that, pet?”

“Seven,” Brock whispers.

“And what did you do wrong?”

Brock squeezes his eyes shut. “I broke my posture, sir.”

“So how many more do you have to take?”

Jack’s got to be kidding. Making him do math?! “F-five?”

“That’s right,” Jack murmurs. He strokes Brock’s spine, fingers just barely brushing the skin. “You’re doing very well. I’m proud of you, pet.”

For a moment, just a moment, the ache evaporates from Brock’s knees and the stinging in his skin turns to shivers of pleasure. “Thank you, sir.”

“Even a thank you?” Jack muses, chuckling as his hand slides back down to Brock’s ass. “You should be thanking me for the punishment too, not just the praise.”

His hand comes down, hard. Brock takes it with a gasp. “Thank you!” 

Jack tells him he’s good, and this time when the pain fades, it stays gone. Jack’s so close, so warm, it’s all Brock can do not to lean into him. But he doesn’t, he stays still, perfectly still, and takes only what he’s given. Four more hits and four more thank yous in reply. Brock means every one, keening out the words and pressing back into Jack’s hand for more. 

Jack was right, he does need it. 

He sobs as the last hit comes down, choking on his breath as Jack’s hands start to pet him, down his legs, up his back…he whimpers when his cock is brushed.

“Purring for me like a kitten,” Jack murmurs, and Brock can only feel his arms shake. Feather-light touches up and down his length, teasing him, rolling him through air, not once moment of grounding.

“Please,” he whimpers, his hips jerking shamefully into Jack’s touch. “Please, sir…”

“You want to come, kitten?”

Brock can only nod, frantic, his hair falling into his eyes. It’s brutally silent, until Jack just laughs and Brock hears the dull metallic scrape of a belt buckle against the floor. “I don’t think so,” Jack chuckles, pushing himself to his feet. “I think you need to take a little more pain. Think you can do that for me, kitten?”

Brock’s whine rings in the glass of the windows, but he doesn’t say no. His head bows in another nod. Jack thinks he needs it, he trusts Jack to be right. “Yes, sir.”

“Face down, ass up, kitten.”

Brock’s arms tingle with relief as he lays his head down, the wood floor cool and comforting against his cheek as his cock presses up into his belly. Jack walks around him, the sound of his steps raising goosebumps on Brock’s skin. 

“Beautiful,” Jack murmurs. Brock’s eyes close with a happy sigh, one barely-there moment of peace, before…

_Crack_.

The belt comes down on his ass and he screams, his toes curling as the lightning strike rolls through him. The air vibrates around him.

_Crack_. 

Another scream, faraway, not his own, and yet it’s his throat burning, his body jolting up with the recoil from the impact, his hands covering the already blooming welts across his ass. He must hurt, but all he feels is light. Light and the wet heat coating his stomach, and then Jack fingers move through his hair. Brock can’t help but sob, wetness spilling onto his cheeks at the sudden softness.

“Look at me, kitten.”

He does, heaving another sob as Jack’s bright eyes peer into his own. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes, only a choked breath as more tears slip down his face. He didn’t behave…

“What color?”

Jack has to say it twice, the second time with an edge to his voice that says worry, even panic. Words still won’t come. Brock tries to nod, but the moment he moves his head he tumbles forward, his legs spilling out from underneath him as he collides with Jack. His forehead presses into the man’s thigh, his arms wrap around the man’s calf, giving balance, solid ground. The fresh bruises ache but he doesn’t care. All he can do is whine low and long before his breath turns to sobbing once again.

He cries out when he’s pried away from Jack, fighting helplessly against a much stronger grip. But as soon as he’s allowed to wrap his arm around Jack’s shoulders, he’s clinging like his life depends on it. 

“That’s enough for now,” Jack murmurs, his arms around Brock’s body, lifting him up. “You did so well. So very good for me, kitten.”

Brock’s eyes squeeze shut and he trembles in Jack’s hold, shaking his head. He came without permission, he’s not good, he’s not—!

“It’s alright,” Jack murmurs. “Time to come down, kitten, just breathe.”

Air swells in Brock’s chest, only to come out as more little sobs. They’re sitting now, he’s on Jack’s lap, and something cool is being wiped between his legs. He shakes his head, and words finally come.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, drawing his knees up, trying to hide his mess from Jack. “I’m sorry, you told me not to and I did…”

“You’re upset about coming?” 

The amusement in Jack’s voice has Brock’s lip quivering, but the kiss pressed softly to his forehead cools that hurt. His head finds Jack’s shoulder as he lets out a shaky sigh.

“I’ll forgive it this time,” Jack murmurs. “You’re new and young, it’s an easy mistake to make.”

Brock nods slightly, turning into Jack’s shoulder and nuzzling closer. “You didn’t have to stop…”

“Yes I did,” Jack sighs. “You’d had enough.”

Brock wants to argue, wants to say he could’ve taken it, that he could’ve taken anything, but as much as he wants to say it, he’s not sure it’s true. He settles for a nod.

“We’ll have plenty of time for more,” Jack smirks. “You scared me for a second, not responding like that.”

“Just couldn’t make myself talk,” Brock shrugs. “You did something weird to me again.”

Jack laughs softly, and Brock lets his eyes close when he earns another kiss on his forehead. “You look like you need to rest,” he murmurs, standing up with Brock still effortlessly cradled in his arms and grinning when Brock clings to him. “I’ve got you.”

Brock hides his face in Jack’s chest, the smooth fabric of his shirt a welcome comfort, until he feels himself being laid on a bed. One glance around shows him Jack’s bedroom, not his own.

“What—”

“My bed’s big enough for two.” Jack grins as he kicks off his shoes, laying down next to Brock, who quickly curls closer, shivering until Jack pulls the blanket over him. “Are you alright, kitten?”

Brock nods, a blush coming to his face at the petname. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Still kinda…”

“Floating?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Brock hides his face in Jack’s chest, but he knows the man can feel the heat from his face. Jack’s fingers brush through his hair, soothing. “Rest, kitten. I have plenty more in store for you.”

Brock whines softly, but it’s not long before he manages to drift off to sleep, his body still humming softly with Jack’s petting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may come a day when I figure out how to update this fic more often than once a month, but it is not this day…
> 
> I hope it was worth the wait!!

Brock’s ass is covered with bruises for days after that session; broad, dark welts across his skin that ache at even the slightest pressure. An ache that Jack is all too delighted to exploit, with no subtlety whatsoever, swatting or squeezing Brock’s ass at every opportunity, smirking when he watches Brock jolt and wince. 

In return, Brock may just start arching his back and wiggling his hips every time Jack’s close to encourage him. Maybe that has something to do with the fact that Jack hasn’t touched him since his whipping—some excuse about letting him heal—and Brock’s craving anything he can get that’s more than resting his head on Jack’s lap or leaning against his side…

But it’s not even worth the trouble to pretend like a thrill doesn’t flash up his spine each time Jack’s hand hurts him. And it doesn’t take very long before Jack calls him on his efforts to seek out more touches.

“Trying to be cute, kitten?”

Even pinned against the counter, with Jack’s cock pressing against him, barely concealed by a layer of denim, Brock finds the will to roll his eyes. ‘Kid’ was bad enough, but why did ‘kitten’ have to stick…

Jack’s hips rock forward, and Brock’s hands scrabble on the smooth counter as his own cock is pressed into the edge of the stone, dragging a whine out of him.

“Answer me, kitten,” Jack chuckles, his words mouthed hot and damp against the back of Brock’s neck. “Are you trying to be a tease?”

Brock bites his lip, whimpering again when Jack pins him with more force. “I-I just want you to touch me, sir…”

Jack sighs, and the disappointment in the sound has Brock hunching his shoulders. “I guess my lesson didn’t quite stick,” Jack muses. “Seems you still need some practice in being patient.”

Brock swallows, his throat like sandpaper. When Jack’s hands begin to push up his shirt, pressing warm and sure along his chest, Brock’s arms give out, his elbows colliding painfully with the counter.

“So sensitive,” Jack purrs. “Especially, here, if I recall correctly.”

Jack’s fingers close around Brock’s nipples, gently at first, soft pulling and rolling until Brock can’t fight a moan. The second the sound slips past his lips, Jack’s touches turn rough, clamping down and twisting, turning Brock’s moan into a cry as his back bows up.

“We should get them pierced,” Jack chuckles, finally having mercy when Brock’s whimpers catch in his throat. “Just imagine how much fun I could have.”

Brock just presses his forehead into the cool countertop, panting weakly as Jack continues to rub slow circles over his nipples. Jack’s such a fucking bastard…

“I’m a what?”

Brock’s eyes fly open, sucking his lower lip between his teeth as he glances over his shoulder at Jack. There’s only amusement in the man’s face, and that might be a lot more reassuring if Brock hadn’t yet picked up on the fact that Jack can get awfully mean when he’s amused.

“You think I’m a bastard, do you, kitten?”

“No…?” Brock whispers. A jolt from Jack’s hips has him groaning, and tells him he’s not believed. “I didn’t mean it, sir!”

“Sure sounded like you did,” Jack smirks.

Brock whines, petulant now, squirming when Jack pinches his nipples again, tugging hard enough to make Brock’s cock twitch in his jeans. “I-I didn’t mean it like a bad thing…”

“Of course you didn’t,” Jack purrs, not letting up for a second. “Because you’re a sweet little masochist, aren’t you?” 

Brock just groans, chewing at his lip. Jack’s rocking his hips steadily now, his pace just hard enough to keep Brock’s throbbing erection rubbing back and forth against the edge of the counter. Brock’s thighs clench together, quivering as pleasure rolls through him with each thrust. Pent up the way he is from Jack’s rules and refusals, anything could send him over the edge. Even though it hurts…

Or maybe because it hurts…

Sweet little masochist. He groans again, his fingers tangling in his own hair and tugging pitifully as Jack’s teeth tease the nape of his neck.

“Jack…” Brock whines. The only thing it gets him is a swat against his ass that has him squealing. “Sir!” he corrects quickly, shivering when Jack’s hands press along his thighs. “Sir, please…” 

“So sweet,” Jack chuckles. “What exactly are you pleading for, kitten?”

“Fuck me,” Brock whines. Pitiful, and he couldn’t care less. “Just want you t’fuck me…”

Jack laughs, and Brock’s eyes squeeze shut at the sound. He’s not getting what he wants.

“Is that why I’m a bastard?” Jack sighs. “Because I won’t give my pretty kitten a cock up his ass.”

Brock doesn’t even bother denying it, and settles for hiding his face against the counter again as his cheeks heating up. He wants Jack so bad…he’s never wanted anybody like this.

Jack’s hands clasp his hips, and Brock swears for a moment his heart stops when he’s yanked back and feels his belt being unclasped.

“Sir…?”

“What’s the matter, kitten?” Jack chuckles. “I’m just having a look at what you’re offering me.”

Blood rushes into Brock’s face and cock, making both burn as his jeans are pulled down. No underwear, Jack’s told him he likes it when Brock doesn’t wear any. 

Jack’s hand presses between Brock’s shoulder blades, pressing him flat against the counter. His shirts still rucked up, sending shivers through him when his skin makes contact with the cold stone. Frigid, compared to Jack’s warm hands sliding down his back and pulling his hips up, spreading him open.

He hears Jack spit and clenches on instinct when the hot saliva makes contact with his hole. Jack rubs over the slick, dragging a whimper out of Brock that turns to a gasp when Jack’s thumb presses into him.

There’s barely any stretch, but it still burns after so long with nothing, and almost no lube. Even so, Brock presses back, sinking his teeth into his lip when Jack’s thumb starts to work in and out of him.

“Nice and tight,” Jack hums. “Cute little virgin.” His thumb pushes deeper, crooking just right so Brock lights up when his prostate is rubbed. He moans and arches his back, circling his hips to press back for more.

And just like that, Jack’s hand is gone, leaving Brock whining as he’s pinned against the counter again. All he can do is shiver, the cold still penetrating.

“Looks like you’re going to need an awful lot of prep before you’re ready for me,” Jack sighs. “You can barely take me down your throat, I’d wreck this tight little thing.”

He punctuates his words with a slap right over Brock’s hole that has Brock squealing again. Jack just chuckles, and when he pulls away, Brock almost hits the floor, his legs weak and shaky.

“Stand up and fix your clothes.”

It takes a moment before Brock can manage to obey, but slowly, he pushes himself up, and he knows Jack’s eyes are on him as he struggles to tuck his dick back into his jeans. 

“Turn around.”

Brock does, and for his trouble he’s offered a kiss on his forehead that has another shudder crawling up his spine. The only kind of kiss Jack ever gives him, but Brock drinks up every one.

“I’ll take care of you soon enough, kitten,” Jack smiles. “Until then, patience is a virtue.”

“Yes, sir,” Brock mumbles. Jack reaches up to brush back the stubborn curl that always ends up in the center of Brock’s forehead, and Brock lets his eyes close, leaning forward until he collides with Jack’s broad chest. The older man sighs, his arms wrapping around Brock’s waist and lifting him up onto the counter. Brock groans softly, nuzzling into Jack’s shoulder.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not having an orgasm won’t kill you,” Jack laughs. “Just keep you nice and wired until I’m ready to have my way with you.”

“And when is that gonna be?” Brock mumbles, folding his arms over his chest. They’re not playing anymore, and that means a whole lot more leeway with how he can talk to Jack.

“When I think the time is right,” Jack shrugs. “And after we’ve had some time to prep you.”

Brock’s cheeks heat up, his head still lowered as his eyes wander up to Jack’s face. “How ya gonna do that?” 

“I’ve got a few toys that I think you could have fun with.”

“Stuff you’ve used on other people?” Jack nods, and Brock wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want secondhand shit.”

“Well if you insist, princess,” Jack snorts. Brock shoves at his chest, and Jack just laughs. “I’ll find you something cute.”

Brock rolls his eyes. “What if I wanna pick out my own stuff?”

Jack smirks, nice and slow. Brock’s throat goes dry all over again. “Then I’ll be happy to take you out to a shop so we can make sure you’re well set up. I wouldn’t miss any opportunity to show you off.”

Brock pulls his lip between his teeth, his gaze flicking back and forth between bright green eyes. “And what would showing me off involve?”

“Nothing you weren’t ok with,” Jack shrugs, still smirking. “Do you think I’m gonna have you on your knees in the middle of an aisle?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” Brock mutters. His hands are in his lap now, giving just the slightest pressure to relieve his still aching hard-on. Jack notices.

“And I wouldn’t put it past you to do it if I asked,” he smirks, his hand finding Brock’s dick and squeezing. “If this is anything to go by, you’d be on your knees now if I gave the word…or bent over like a slut.”

Brock groans, pushing at Jack’s hand half-heartedly. Pride permanently went out the window a long time ago when it comes to Jack. 

Finally, that hand relents, leaving Brock to gasp in dizzying mix of relief and frustration. Fuck what Jack says, this is definitely going to kill him…

“I hope I shouldn’t be worried about you running off to find some dick that isn’t mine.”

Brock scoffs, straightening up with his arms firmly crossed over his chest. “If I was gonna give it up to just anybody I would’ve done it way before you,” he mutters. 

“Is that so?”

Brock rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t last long once Jack’s hands are on his hips, pulling him closer to the edge of the counter. He fixes his tongue between his teeth, sighing when Jack’s fingertips tease just under the hem of his shirt. 

“Cat got your tongue, kitten?”

Brock whines, squirming in Jack’s arms, which only tighten around him. The man’s sleeves are rolled up, coils of ink drawing Brock’s gaze up the lines of his broad arms. “Didn’t want it to be just anybody…”

“Did you have anything specific in mind?”

Brock shrugs. “Not really…”

“Well you knew you didn’t want it to be with ‘just anybody’,” Jack prods. “Clearly you’ve thought about it.”

“Just didn’t want it to be some random hook-up,” Brock sighs. “Lettin’ somebody fuck me is different, you know?”

“I do,” Jack nods. “But it is something you’re interested in, right?”

“Yeah,” Brock snorts. “And since it looks like I’m gonna be with you…” Hopefully for a while… “Seems like you’re a good person to give it up to.”

“I’m flattered.” Jack nods. “And I’ll be sure to make your first time memorable.”

“Oh yeah?” Brock laughs. “How ya gonna do that?”

“Now where’s the fun in knowing everything beforehand?” Jack grins. “Unless you can think up any requests? Candles and rose petals, maybe?”

“Fuck off,” Brock mutters, shoving at Jack’s chest again. As if candles and rose petals have any place in this…arrangement they’ve got. 

“Just thought I’d ask,” Jack smiles. “Nothing special in mind?”

“Other than your dick in my ass?”

“Other than that.”

Brock rolls his eyes. “Nah, surprise me.” He manages a little smile, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of Jack’s shirt. It doesn’t go unnoticed, broadening Jack’s smile into a grin.

“You’re awfully trusting.”

Brock glances up, shrugging one shoulder. “I thought that was the idea?”

“Very true,” Jack nods. He chuckles, pressing one all-too-sweet kiss to Brock’s forehead. Brock feels himself go cherry-red in a flash, his grip tightening on Jack’s shirt. “I certainly lucked out in finding you, didn’t I?”

Brock manages a little nod, but as far as he’s concerned, he’s the lucky one.

******

Jack’s lessons in patience continue to be infuriatingly unsatisfying. Brock takes being bent over the bed, the counters, tables, even the arms of chairs and couches, Jack’s hands in between his legs, fingers inside his ass…slow, methodical, and never once offering any relief.

He leaves Brock shaking and whining every time and doesn’t even ask for anything in return. Not that Brock doesn’t offer, dropping to the floor and tugging down Jack’s fly without any hesitation. 

Jack’s more than happy to indulge him. But the temporary closeness of Jack’s cock down his throat does nothing to help the frustration pulsing between his legs.

Luckily, Jack’s massive house provides some distraction. Jack works in the morning, shut up in his office or out on some errand, leaving Brock to wander the house and entertain himself.

The empty rooms don’t get a whole hell of a lot more interesting upon closer inspection, though the one locked closet near the end of the hall does make Brock raise an eyebrow. He doesn’t bother asking about it, just files it away for later. 

There is a gym near the end of the hall, too, which Brock manages to pass some time in, but he’s never been one to waste hours working out. He’s never needed it anyway, though he can hardly complain about what it does for Jack.

The library provides better distraction, though it might have offered more if Brock had ever had a penchant for books that smell like leather and dust. At least half of them aren’t even in English, and a good portion are in a language Brock doesn’t even recognize. He perks up a little when he finds a few in Italian, and the Spanish and French ones he finds after that aren’t too hard to figure out either, since the spelling’s almost identical. 

If only the subjects were a little more entertaining. Art history, regular history…it’s not long before Brock’s eyes are glazing over.

And god knows boredom never made him do anything smart. 

Jack’s out—presumably working on whatever it is he does—when Brock decides to wander into the man’s office. The desk is just as ridiculous as ever, Brock snorts, dropping himself down into the chair behind it, the plastic wheels squeaking against the wooden floor as the chair spins underneath him. Brock can’t resist pushing it into another spin, kicking against the floor hard enough that the thing nearly tips out from under him. He has to catch himself against the desk, laughing the whole way.

Fuck, he really must be bored…

He’s still chuckling as he runs his hand over the ornate knobs on the drawers, lingering over the pleasing texture of the metal. 

One drawer has a lock, where the others don’t. Brock takes the warning as an invitation, and gives an experimental pull.

The drawer pops open, no resistance, revealing a whole lot of nothing, much to Brock’s disappointment. Just a bed of silk and…an indentation?

A frown crosses Brock’s face as he pulls the drawer open further, his hand slipping in to feel out the depression in the fabric. Narrow at first, then widening and dipping down. A barrel, and a handle.

Brock cocks an eyebrow, glancing at the door on instinct. 

Jack’s got a gun. 

A gun he presumably has taken with him on whatever “errand” it is he’s running.

That same question he’s been asking himself since the start rings in his head. Who the hell is this guy?

Brock shuts the empty drawer, and starts pulling open others. Files, labeled with letters—initials?—filled with papers with names and dates and addresses…

“What the hell…?”

“What are you doing?”

Brock drops the file in his hands as he jumps, scattering papers across the floor. His eyes are wide as he looks up to see Jack leaning against the doorframe.

At least the guy doesn’t look angry, though that doesn’t stop Brock from hunching his shoulders as Jack strolls closer, kneeling down to gather up the papers and tucking them back into the file folder he plucks from Brock’s hands effortlessly. 

“What are you doing in here, kid?”

Brock shrugs, though his shoulders don’t drop, fixed somewhere in the vicinity of his ears as Jack puts the file away and shuts the drawers. “I got bored…”

“And you decided that snooping was a good way to break the boredom?”

“Well there’s nothing else to do here!” Brock snaps, his nails digging into the chair’s cushion. Jack sighs, and the disappointment in his eyes has Brock looking away. 

His eyes wander up when he hears Jack move, and he freezes when he sees Jack pull the gun out of a holster on his hip. ‘Beretta’ flashes at him from the black barrel as Jack tucks the gun back in its drawer, locking it away with a tiny key on his ring of several. 

“Why do you need a gun?”

Jack raises an eyebrow at him. “For protection, why else?”

Brock rolls his eyes. “No, I mean what do you do that you need to have a gun with you? You’re not a cop.”

“And how do you know that?” Jack grins.

“Cuz if you were you would’ve flashed a badge at me when you caught me trying to steal your bike,” Brock snaps. “And cops work longer hours than you anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Jack chuckles.

“So what do you do?” Brock asks again.

Jack only sighs, shaking his head. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because it’s fucking creepy that you have this giant house and all this nice stuff when it seems like you barely work,” Brock mutters. “You in the mafia or something?”

Jack snorts, and there’s a bit too much humor in it for Brock’s liking, but when he glances up, Jack’s shaking his head. “I’m a private investigator, for people who are willing to pay a lot for the information I can bring them,” he sighs. “And that’s all I’m gonna say about it.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s all I’m gonna say about it.” Jack’s tone is final, but the way he rests his hands on Brock’s legs is reassuring. 

“So you snoop for a living but I get in trouble for doing it?” he mumbles

“I snoop only where I’m asked to,” Jack smirks. Brock rolls his eyes.

“Whatever.” His curiosity is far from satisfied, but Jack’s hands still stroking along his legs have a way of distracting him. Maybe he doesn’t really want to know if what Jack’s doing is dangerous…or illegal.

“Not bored anymore, kitten?”

“Never bored once you’re back,” Brock smiles, leaning back in the chair. Jack slides closer, his hands taking hold of Brock’s hips. One jerk forward, and Brock’s teetering on the edge of the chair, bracing himself against Jack’s powerful shoulders.

“Obviously I’ve been remiss in taking care of you,” Jack sighs. “This house is set up for me, not anybody else. No wonder you’re running out of ways to entertain yourself.”

“No shit,” Brock smirks. “Won’t let me get off, and all your books are boring as fuck…”

“You tried watching movies?”

“I don’t know how to work that tv.” It’s as much a monstrosity as Jack’s desk.

“Well we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” Jack chuckles. “But first I think we should go out and get you those new toys I promised you.”

Brock rolls his eyes. “You ready to show me off again?”

“Always,” Jack nods. “In fact, why don’t you go put on that tank top, the one with the open sides, so everybody can see this sweet little body of yours.”

Brock tries to scoff, shoving at Jack’s shoulders, but his blushing gives him away. “Shit like this is why I call you a bastard.”

“And shit like that is only going to get you more bruises on that ass,” Jack smirks. The only response Brock manages is a yelp when both of Jack’s hands come down hard against his hips. “Now go get dressed.”

The shirt Jack told him to put on is ridiculous. Deep red, barely wide enough to cover Brock’s chest and back. The straps slip off his shoulders and, more often than not, the front slides around to flash his chest. That’s probably exactly why Jack got it for him. 

Brock throws on the especially tight jeans Jack likes too, just for good measure. Jack’s eyes stay fixed on him the whole way to the car, turning Brock’s skin into wildfire.

That gaze doesn’t let up once they reach the store Jack decided on—surprisingly well-lit and clean given the sort of place it is—but the second other people start looking Brock up and down, Jack’s hand is on the back of his neck, possessive.

Brock leans into that hand, letting Jack lead him.

“What the f—”

“Never seen a vibrator before?” 

Brock scoffs. He’s not about to admit that he’s never seen one in person. And he’s definitely never imagined that they came that big. He preoccupies himself with readjusting his shirt while Jack walks closer to the display wall.

“Come on,” Jack urges. “You said you wanted to pick out your own toys.”

“Didn’t think I’d have so many to pick from…”

Jack chuckles, scanning the wall before tapping one package. “This might suit you well, a nice beginner’s set.”

Brock rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest as he glances over the set of three anal plugs, all of different sizes. “Aren’t those a little small?” he mutters. He’s seen Jack’s cock plenty of times, those plugs don’t even come close…

“Well I still want you to feel it when I fuck you,” Jack smirks. “Can’t have you getting too loose.” Brock swallows his indignance when Jack presses the plastic into his hands. “Go get us a basket.”

Brock huffs, but obeys when Jack raises an eyebrow at him. The eyes of everyone in the store burn him as he wanders out of the aisle, grabbing a basket and dropping the set Jack handed him into it. It’s painfully difficult not to run back to Jack, but the last thing he wants is to attract more attention.

Jack’s still patiently glancing through the aisle when Brock finally slinks back to his side. “Got any other torture devices picked out?”

“Quite a few. It’s amazing how innovative people can be,” Jack smiles, nodding to something Brock doesn’t bother glancing at. “I can control that one from my phone, let you know I’m thinking about you when I’m working.”

“Oh my god…” Brock mutters.

“Maybe once you’re a little more trained up we could have a look at some nice fuck machines.” Brock’s squawk goes unheeded. “That’d be a lovely way to keep you entertained for an hour or two.”

Brock blanches. And hour, or more, of being left with a machine fucking him?! “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

Jack’s not. Of course he’s not. Brock knees go so weak he nearly hits the floor when Jack smirks at him.

“I would never kid about all the fun I plan on having with you, kitten.”

The petname is the nail in his coffin. Brock whimpers, his eyes squeezing shut as Jack’s hand cards through his hair then continues down the nape of his neck, guiding him in closer as it snakes down his back. Brock sucks in a breath when that hand grips his ass, hard enough to draw a wince out of him.

“You’d be so cute,” Jack purrs. “Cuff you to the headboard of my bed, pin your legs open and let the machine do all the work. Bet you’d be sobbing inside twenty minutes.”

Brock shudders, hiding his face in Jack’s chest. “There’s no way you’d be able to keep me from coming…”

“That’s what cockrings are for, kitten.”

“Fuck…”

Jack chuckles. “I’d save that for once you were nice and opened up. All shaky, making those sweet little noises. Fuck you into the mattress until you were sobbing all over again.”

Brock groans, burying his face further into Jack’s chest. The images Jack offers flash in front of his eyes, his skin tight and hot, his jeans only more so.

Jack’s hand is under his shirt now, sliding up his chest. One hard flick against his nipple has him whining.

“Hush,” Jack orders, and Brock bites down on his tongue. “Don’t want anyone overhearing, do we?”

Brock shakes his head, going tense when he hears someone moving in the next aisle.

“Getting nervous, kitten?”

“No, sir,” he whispers. He feels Jack’s hand move again, and when warm fingers press against his lips, he opens his mouth willingly to let them in.

“Look at me.”

His eyes flick up to see Jack still smirking at him as those fingers press down against his tongue, deep enough to make Brock gag weakly. 

“Suck.”

Brock obeys, closing his lips around Jack’s fingers and running his tongue along the length of them, just like he does with Jack’s cock. Jack’s eyes grow darker, more dangerous, and his fingers start pumping in and out of Brock’s mouth, slick with spit that’s soon dripping from Brock’s lips.

“Messy little slut,” Jack chuckles. “I should really get you home, shouldn’t I? Have a little fun…”

Trails of spit connect Brock’s tongue to Jack’s fingers as the older man pulls them out of Brock’s mouth, smearing the mess across Brock’s lips. Brock flinches, but nods, reaching up to wipe his mouth when Jack steps away.

“Don’t you dare.”

Brock freezes. “What?’

“Don’t clean up,” Jack says, glancing over at Brock with warning in his eyes. Brock drops his hand. “I’m just going to make a mess of you again once we’re home, it’s really not worth it.”

Brock sets his teeth in his lip, letting out a little whimper that Jack just laughs at.

“Being cute won’t get you anything.” 

That has Brock dropping his head, staying perfectly still as Jack grabs a few more things, dropping them into the basket in Brock’s hands. He can’t help but notice the contents.

“C-can…?”

He hesitates, but Jack’s hand tips his head up after only a few seconds.

“Yes, kitten?”

Brock swallows thickly, his eyes darting away. “I-I want the one that…that you can control…please…”

It’s too quiet, the only thing Brock can hear is his own breathing, which picks up when Jack takes a step closer. Brock feels a shelf protruding from the wall press into his back.

“Well since you asked so nicely.”

Another package hits the bottom of the basket, exactly the one he asked for. “Thank you, sir,” he murmurs.

“I always take care of you, don’t I, kitten?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack’s hand ruffles his hair, and he even takes the time to flick the strap of Brock’s shirt off his shoulder, shifting the whole thing so half Brock’s chest is on display before walking out of the aisle. Brock follows, going deep red the second he catches his reflection in a nearby mirror.

If he’d thought people were staring before, it’s nothing compared to the looks he’s getting now. The waiting on the drive back damn near kills him.

Once they’re home, Jack orders him to unpack everything and make sure it’s all cleaned. 

“When you’re done, undress and bring everything up to the library.”

Brock can only nod, and when he’s finally making his way up the stairs, it’s with shaky legs that only carry him up through sheer force of will. 

Jack’s waiting for him in the library, reclining in the armchair, a glass in his hand. Scotch. Brock recognizes the color.

“Come here.”

Brock drops his gaze, but his feet carry him forward of their own accord. 

“Set the bag down and kneel.” 

Brock does, and Jack takes far too long inspecting his work, setting each toy out on the table next to him, one by one.

“Nicely done, kitten,” Jack finally sighs, and Brock shivers as the petname washes over him. “I believe I just paid you a compliment.”

“Th-thank you, sir.” Brock stumbles over the words. Jack just snorts, standing and striding around Brock, who flinches each time Jack’s shoes come down against the wood floor.

“Get up.”

Even when he’s standing, Jack towers over him, that scar on the man’s chin curling as he smirks. 

“You’re only twenty, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When’s your birthday?”

Brock frowns, but Jack seems unfazed. “June 8th…”

Jack smirks, downing the rest of his drink. “Then it looks like you’ve still got a few month before I’ll be sharing my liquor with you.”

As soon as the man’s back is turned, Brock thinks he’s can get away with rolling his eyes. He’s wrong, of course.

“Something bothering you?” Jack’s got one eyebrow raised, and Brock can only manage a little squeak in reply as Jack whips off his belt. “Answer me.”

“No—”

“I thought we talked about you lying to me.”

Brock throat goes dry when Jack walks behind him, his hands curling up as he prepares to take the belt. “I-I used to drink all the time, why does my age matter?”

Jack chuckles, and the hit Brock’s waiting for doesn’t come. “Because it’s illegal, and I’m not going to help you break the law.” Brock bites down on his tongue to keep from arguing. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.”

Brock nearly bites through his tongue when Jack’s belt snaps, but doesn’t make contact with his skin. 

“Turn around.”

Brock doesn’t even have time to look Jack in the face before he’s being shoved back into the armchair, crying out in shock as he nearly falls off the chair onto the floor. But Jack wouldn’t let that happen. His hand presses against Brock chest, pinning him down. Brock can’t help but whimper again as Jack leans over him.

“What color, kitten?”

It takes Brock a moment, but Jack’s hand goes gentle against him. He manages to let out a breath and nod his head. “Green, sir.”

Jack smiles, his hand sliding up to cup Brock’s chin. “Good boy.” And just like that his hands gone, leaving Brock to spin with nothing to ground him, gripping desperately at the arms of the chair. “You’ve been awfully flippant today, but I guess whipping you wouldn’t do much good. You enjoyed that a little too much last time.”

Despite Jack’s words, Brock’s eyes stay fixed on the belt until Jack sets it down. He’s about to ask what exactly Jack does have planned, when the man suddenly grabs his thighs, pushing them up and apart. 

“Hold your ankles, keep your legs spread.” Brock hesitates. Jack’s not having that. “Now, kitten.”

Brock tries to obey, his movements uncertain. Jack’s hands are on him again before he’s even finishes positioning himself. His arms are wrapped around his legs, until his elbows are pinning his legs down and the soles of his feet press together. He winces at the stretch in his hips.

“Comfortable?” Jack smirks as he says it.

“No,” Brock mumbles.

“In pain?”

Brock glances up, and the sincerity in Jack’s eyes makes him hold back his petulance. “No,” he sighs. The stretch may not be comfortable, but he can take it. What he may not be able to take it how Jack’s eyes crawl over his very-much-exposed body. 

“Very good,” Jack purrs, his gaze fixing between Brock’s legs. “Now why don’t we try out some of these new toys?”

In this position, Brock can’t crane his neck to see what Jack’s reaching for, but he’s shown it soon enough. The smallest plug in the set of three, barely wider than two of Brock’s fingers at its widest point. Jack doesn’t say a word, just taps the thing against Brock lips. No question what Jack’s asking of him. Brock takes it in his mouth, sliding his tongue against the smooth plastic just as he’d done with Jack’s fingers in the store. 

Jack pulls the toy away soon enough, and Brock’s hardly got a second to breath before he feels the thing pressing against his hole. Jack slides it in, half-inch by half-inch, and Brock moans softly. Even with the heat from his mouth, the thing’s still cold at first and far more rigid than the careful fingers he’s used to. When Jack let’s the toy go fully inside him, Brock groans, his body instinctively clenching.

“Took that beautifully, didn’t you, kitten,” Jack smiles, pressing his fingers against the base of the toy, rubbing back and forth. Brock shudders as the toy moves inside him, the strain in his legs forgotten. “Let’s try something a little bigger.”

Brock nods, and by the time Jack’s carefully pulled the plug out of him, he’s panting weakly.

“So desperate for it,” Jack purrs. Brock whines and looks away, gasping when he feels the tip of the second largest toy pressing into him. It doesn’t get far before he’s wincing and flinching away. 

“Forgot what it’s like to be with a virgin,” Jack teases, but there’s a heat in his eyes that has Brock’s embarrassment melting. “Guess you need something a little more than spit.” The man stands, leaving Brock to shiver against the desire to close his legs and curl up as he waits for Jack to return. He hears a drawer being opened and a plastic cap being snapped, but he’s still left cold. By the time Jack’s in front of him again, he’s aching all over and trembling. Jack takes pity.

“Thought I was leaving you, kitten?” he murmurs, his hand resting softly under Brock’s chin as he kneels.

“No,” Brock shrugs, sucking in a breath when he feels the toy being pressed into him, slick this time. His back arches on it’s own accord, but with his hands reflexively gripping tighter to his ankles as well, he’s got nowhere to go. “Jack…” he pants. “Please…”

“Calling me by name, you must be feeling good,” Jack chuckles, pumping the toy inside Brock. He can feel it’s not even halfway in, but he still can’t help but squirm. “What’s wrong, kitten?”

“The position,” Brock whispers, wiggling his hips. “I-It’s—”

“Uncomfortable?”

Brock nods, groaning when Jack slides the toy further inside, deep enough so the tip presses against his prostate. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Jack smiles, repeating the gentle pulses, working Brock open, relaxing him. “I didn’t put you that way so you could enjoy it. I’ve got to be creative with punishing you, since you’re such a masochist.”

“Y-you could tie me?” Might be easier than having to hold himself in place…

“I certainly could,” Jack nods. “And I might do it, once you’re better behaved, but for now, I like seeing you struggle against yourself.”

Brock’s eyes go wide and he’s about to protest when Jack suddenly presses the plug forward, the whole thing sliding inside him in an instant. Brock cries out, his teeth sinking into his lip at the sudden fullness inside him. “Fuck!”

“Too much?”

“No!” Brock says quickly, whimpering when Jack presses against the base of the plug, just like he’d done with the smaller on. The time the shifting pressure is enough to have him shaking, his nails digging into his own skin as broken sounds are dragged out of his throat, heat blooming in his stomach.

“So sweet,” Jack smirks, and instantly Brock’s drowning in cool green eyes. He whines softly, and in a moment of weakness he reaches out.

He gets his hands slammed back against the chair for his trouble, his legs ending up on Jack’s shoulders as he’s bent nearly in half, Jack’s weight sinking him deeper into the cushion of the chair.

“You’re getting awfully bold, kitten.”

“M’sorry…” Brock whispers, his toes curling when Jack’s hard cock presses between his legs, grinding against the plastic base of the plug. “P-please…”

Of course Jack pulls away. Brock groans, and pushes against Jack’s hold on him, just to feel the man pin him harder. “Begging to come already?”

“Please, sir,” he whispers, keeping his head lowered as he looks up at Jack through his eyelashes. As pitiful as he can manage. 

Jack doesn’t break, but he does falter. Brock watches it in green eyes.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Jack scoffs, standing and letting Brock’s legs fall from his shoulders. With no way to balance, Brock yelps and ends up crumbled on the floor. The plug remains unyielding inside his body, pressing and rubbing in ways that have him moaning even through the ache in his knees. 

Again, the floor’s shuddering underneath him with Jack’s footsteps, walking around the back of the chair. “Eyes on the floor,” Jack orders when Brock tries to look for him. Brock’s head snaps down, his whole body curling in.

“You’ve been on edge because I haven’t been letting you touch yourself. That’s what all this acting out is about, isn’t it?”

Whether Jack really wants an answer or not, Brock doesn’t know, but after a moment’s hesitation he nods his head. He can’t lie.

“Well then, why don’t you show me exactly what you’ve been missing?”

Brock glances up, only to come face to face with the vibrator Jack chose for him, his body tensing as his eyes slide up the length of the thing and towards Jack’s face. “What?”

A grin spreads on Jack’s face. “You want to get off, so I’ll let you. And with this little thing, we can both have our fun.” There’s a pause, where Jack conceivably expects an answer, but Brock can’t make his voice work to give one. Jack wants to…to watch him?

“How does that sound, kitten?”

“G-good, sir,” Brock stammers. It’s not a lie, his cock presses up against his stomach to show just how truthful he’s being, even as his cheeks burn.

“Then make yourself comfortable.” Brock nods, shifting to push himself back up onto the chair, but Jack’s hand grabs the back of his neck and shoves him down instantly. “On the floor, kitten.” 

Brock’s eyes flutter shut as Jack’s hand glides through his hair. He’s even allowed to press his cheek against Jack’s thigh for a moment before he draws in a deep breath and crawls forward to lay down. The floor is cold against his back, the air more so against his sensitive skin as he spreads his legs. But Jack’s gaze is fire as the man sits himself in the armchair, crossing his legs and settling in.

“Take out that plug first.”

Brock nods, letting his leg lay against the floor, opening himself up more for Jack’s gaze as his hand slips down between his legs.

The first inch is the hardest part. Brock moans weakly as his body tenses around the stretch, then finally relaxes, letting the plug slide slowly out of him. His cock twitches when he’s left clenching around air, dropping the plug on the floor.

“Good boy,” Jack smiles. Brock whimpers as heat washes over him. Jack tosses a bottle down. Lube, Brock sees when he glances at the label. “Make sure you’re still nice and wet.”

Brock can feel the heat under his skin only getting worse as he pours some of the fluid out onto his fingers, not hesitating a moment before pressing them inside. Two at first, then a third. He pushes deeper and moans, letting the sound drag out, and Jack’s eyes flash dark as they follow the arch of Brock’s spine.

“How pretty,” he coos. “Ready for more?”

Brock nods, quickly reaching up with his already slick hand to take the vibrator from Jack. It’s not much thicker than the plug, but there’s no taper, no relief from the stretch. Brock’s hands are trembling as he covers the length of it with lube before reaching down, pressing the tip against his entrance. His body won’t quite relax at first, tensing and flinching when he tries to push the toy in. He lets out a sharp breath when Jack’s foot rests against his belly.

“Relax, kitten.”

Brock whines softly, but his body does let go as he exhales, urged by pressure from Jack’s foot. He gasps when the vibrator slips inside him, impossibly smooth, slowly moving deeper until the base is rested against his skin. Jack’s foot doesn’t move, and Brock shudders under the pressure.

“I assume you know what to do next,” Jack chuckles. His phone’s in his hand, and Brock moans at the sight, beginning to work the vibrator in and out slowly, getting used to the size. “How’s it feel, kitten?”

“Good, sir,” Brock murmurs. “Never had anything this deep before.”

Jack smirks, glancing down at his phone again. Brock watches him tap his phone and not a full second later Brock jolts as the vibrator turns on inside him. Jack’s foot keeps him pinned, but he still can’t help squirming.

“And that’s just the first setting,” Jack smiles. “Would you like to try the highest?”

“I-I…” The lowest setting already has him shaking, he can’t imagine… 

Jack chuckles. “How about a middle setting?”

That, Brock quickly nods for. When Jack flicks the setting up, electric pleasure shoots up his spine and the only thing he can do is double over and let out a shout. The sound bleeds into a whimper when the vibration doesn’t relent. No relief. 

He looks up at Jack, who smiles at him.“Feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”

Brock barely manages to nod before his whole body jerks, his toes curling. He moans deeply, squeezing his eyes shut when Jack’s foot pushes him onto his back again.

“Moving it might make things feel even better.”

Brock chews his lip, but his hand slips down again. Pathetic, broken sounds erupt from his throat as the vibrator moves inside him, rubbing and pulsing against his prostate. He feels wetness dripping onto his stomach. Precum from his throbbing cock.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, sir,” Brock breathes, his hips rocking down against the vibrator on instinct. His hand starts to work faster, pulsing more heat up his spine, curling in under his navel. Fuck he needs it so bad…

“Not so fast.” Brock cries out when the vibration suddenly ceases, leaving him to shake, his hand going still. Jack’s gonna kill him. “Slowly, kitten.”

Brock obeys, and despite how his body quivers with need, he keeps his pace slow. Jack’s eyes are fixed on his, drawing a long breath out of him, forcing his body to relax. 

Jack’s foot moves off him, and the vibrator flips on again. Lowest setting, but it’s enough to make Brock moan. 

“Please,” he whimpers, his legs shaking as he fights the urge to slam them shut and curl in on the pleasure between his legs. “Sir, please, I wanna come.”

“So come,” Jack shrugs, smirking when Brock chokes out a whine. “I’m not saying you can’t.”

Brock shakes his head weakly. It’s not enough. The slow pace, the barely-there vibration, it’s not nearly enough. “Please,” he whines, dragging the word out pitifully.

“What’s the matter, kitten?” Jack sighs. “You’re so on edge, I would think anything could tip you over.”

“I can’t,” Brock murmurs. “I can’t, I need more…”

Jack sighs again, rolling his eyes as he glances at his phone. “I’ll turn the setting up, but you have to keep that slow pace. Think you can manage that?”

“Yes, sir,” Brock nods, and just for good measure: “Thank you, sir.”

Jack smiles. “Such a sweet pet,” he murmurs. “But that mouth…”

His foot shifts, and Brock’s eyes widen when the smooth sole of Jack’s shoe rests against his throat. Hardly any pressure, but enough to make Brock’s heartrate spike. White haze wraps around the edge of his vision, and he shudders with a moan.

“What color?”

“Green,” Brock whispers, tipping his chin up to bare more of his neck. Jack doesn’t hesitate to exert more pressure, enough to make Brock’s skin tingle.

“Still green?”

“Yes, sir.” Brock barely gets the words out before Jack turns the vibrator up, leaving him to cry out and cough weakly when he presses up and only runs into Jack’s foot. Jack doesn’t let up, massaging Brock’s throat with delicate pressure.

“I like you like this,” Jack smirks. “Nice and quiet.”

Brock chokes out a little moan, sparks erupting across his skin with each breath he gasps for. Jack could snap his neck like this, and yet Brock knows he won’t. Jack’s so careful with him, always. Brock’s moans again, softly this time, at the thought, feeling himself edge over into that warm floating.

But that doesn’t relieve the pressure between his legs, his hips rocking again, grinding against the vibrator. He’s so close, he just needs—

“Come for me, kitten.”

Brock’s whole body surges as he gasps out a soft cry, his body bowing up once more as pleasure rocks through him, white hot and pulsing with his shuddery breaths, still under the gentle pressure of Jack’s foot, unforgiving wood at his back. The air quivers, even after the vibration ceases, but the toy is forgotten soon enough, and Brock’s still panting as Jack pulls him up. 

His eyes are barely open as Jack guides his mouth onto his cock, but it’s instinctive to move his head up and down with the pressure from Jack’s hand.The warmth and scent of Jack’s body has him moaning. 

It doesn’t take long before Jack’s coming down his throat, thick, hot, and bitter. Brock hums softly at the thought of Jack all wound up over him, licking softly at the man’s length until he’s pulled away. Warm hands pet him, and his eyes stay closed

Jack lets him remain on the floor, breathing softly with his cheek rested against Jack’s thigh. When he feels a hand running through his hair, he wraps his arms around Jack’s leg.

“Back on earth yet?”

Brock huffs, nuzzling against Jack’s thigh. What good is being on earth when he can be here?

Jack chuckles, and Brock goes willingly when he feels himself being lifted into Jack’s lap. He catches powdery scent of baby wipes—Jack’s got them everywhere, apparently—and whines at the cool fabric wiping down his face, his chest, between his legs… Jack shushes him, and he sighs, curling closer as soon as it’s allowed.

He’s not sure what he likes better, being manhandled and ordered around, or the cuddling that always comes after. Tough competition.

“Well that was fun,” Jack smiles. Brock nods, yawning weakly. “You make a very pretty picture.”

“Must be why you were staring so much,” Brock mumbles, hiding a smile when Jack chuckles. 

“Didn’t expect you to be able to come on command.”

Hiding a smile turns to hiding a blush. “Me neither.”

“But did you enjoy it?”

Brock doesn’t hesitate to nod. Jack’s hand is stroking his thigh now, and he shivers as he presses in. “Didn’t really mind being on the floor either.”

“And my foot on your neck?”

“Didn’t mind having your foot anywhere,” Brock shrugs. “It’s weird…”

Jack’s hand continues up Brock’s thigh and along his back, soft enough to have Brock’s eyes clouding over once again. “What’s weird, kitten?”

Brock shrugs again, fidgeting with the buttons on Jack’s shirt. Words he’d usually never say tumble out. “It’s weird cuz I usually hate feeling small, or weak, or anything like that. But I don’t mind it with you.”

Jack chuckles again, and Brock glances up when he feels a kiss brushing against his cheek. “Sometimes it’s nice to be able to let go and give someone else control,” Jack murmurs. Brock nods, tucking his face back into Jack’s shoulder and breathing deep. Jack smells so good, not just his cologne or soap, but the musky scent of his skin… “Feeling tired?”

“Kinda,” Brock mumbles. 

“Want to move off of me?”

He can hear the humor in Jack’s voice, and there’s no mistaking how Jack’s arms settle around him. “Hell no.”

Jack laughs, and Brock purrs when he earns himself another kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, SO sorry about the very long wait! Hope you all enjoy! (drop me a comment if you do~)

“Easy, kitten.”

Brock groans, letting his head drop down, his hands digging into Jack’s thighs. He’s laid over Jack’s lap on the couch, naked, his legs spread as Jack eases a plug inside him. He’s up to the biggest one in the set, now. Jack’s been making him wear one every day, just for a few hours in the evening, and that’s only after painstakingly working his fingers inside Brock, prepping him until his whole body’s hot and he can’t stop making pitiful noises. 

And every night he goes asleep alone, still burning, once Jack’s tucked him into bed like he’s a child. Frustrated has long since ceased to be a strong enough word for the perpetual state of unfulfilled arousal he’s trapped him.

Brock whines when the plug suddenly slides inside him, easy enough after the first inch. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but the pressure and stretch is incredible, and Jack’s hand stroking up and down his back has him quivering.

“You still get so tense,” Jack sighs, nudging Brock off his lap. Brock slides the the floor, the living room carpet soft under his knees.

“I try not to…” he mumbles, pressing his cheek against Jack’s inner thigh and closing his eyes when Jack starts to pet his hair. 

“Nerves getting the better of you?” Jack chuckles. Brock ducks down, his forehead against Jack’s thigh now.

“I dunno…” he shrugs. Jack’s fingers slide to the delicate hairs at the base of head, and Brock feels goosebumps break out across across his skin. “Can’t help it.” He hears Jack sigh, and glances up in time to see him nod.

“Then I guess I’ll have to take special care when we try to get something bigger inside you,” he murmurs. Brock finds his throat suddenly dry, thick with the possibilities.

“How do you mean?” he asks softly.

Jack laughs, tightening his grip on Brock’s hair, until Brock gasps. “Well, we know what a little bit of pain does to you,” he shrugs. “If I put you under, I bet you’d take damn near anything just fine.” Brock tries to nod, but Jack jerks his head back by his hair, forcing him to look up so green eyes can overwhelm him. “How does that sound, pet?”

“Good, sir.” The whisper rushes out of him, and for a moment Brock wonders if they count as a lie. After all, having Jack inside him while he’s floating sounds a hell of a lot better than just good. Just the thought has more tremors rolling down his back, forcing his body to clench around the plug inside him

Jack finally releases his hair in favor of stroking down his cheek gently, and Brock presses into the touch on instinct, winding up with his face against Jack’s leg again once the man leans back.

“You’d really let me do that?”

He sounds almost surprised. “Why wouldn’t I?” Brock asks softly, raising his eyes. He’s already trusted Jack plenty, why wouldn’t it extend to this? 

“Well, when you go under, sometimes you can’t talk, and you can barely move,” Jack shrugs. “You’d trust me with your body while you were like that?”

“Yeah…?” Brock nods. A bemused look crosses Jack’s face, his eyes flicking back and forth between Brock’s. 

“You’d trust me not to take advantage?”

Brock frowns at the question, at how sincere it sounds, with a touch of worry in the tone, and he finds his shoulders hunching up until they brush his ears in a shrug.

“If you were gonna take advantage, you would’ve done it already.” He winces at how the words ring against his ears. Pitiful. 

But he’s right, isn’t he? His teeth catch on his lip. Jack wouldn’t waste all this time on him if he just wanted to hurt him…

Jack’s hand runs through his hair, as soothing as ever, and Brock lets his eyes close. Jack wouldn’t hurt him. He’s always asking if he’s ok, what he wants, what he doesn’t… If Jack just wanted sex, he would’ve taken it already.

“Brock.”

Brock raises his head, his eyes going wide when Jack leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. He has to bite his lip to hold back a whimper. He both hates and loves the way Jack kisses him. A tease, like everything else.

“Get dressed, kitten.”

An order. Brock latches onto the familiar tone, reaching for his jeans without hesitation. Orders are easy, it’s the questions that nearly kill him. He shivers as he stands and feels the plug moving inside him, pressing exquisitely as he struggles to fasten the fly over his erection. He turns back to Jack, who looks him over with eyes that glow with approval. Brock drinks it up, his eyes fixing on Jack’s hand as it raises, waving him closer.

“Come here.”

Brock does, and his hands clasp behind his back when Jack reaches up to trail his fingers along Brock’s slim chest, white hot gashes left in their wake.

“Pretty boy,” Jack purrs. Brock feels his knees go weak as pink bleeds onto his cheeks. Always _boy_. Always _pretty_ … _little_ … _young_ … As if he needs reminding that Jack could crush him with one arm. As if the thought doesn’t bring him to his knees daily. 

“How about you go get me a drink.”

Brock wavers under the impact of the order, but somehow his already unsteady legs manage to carry him back to where Jack keeps his liquor. ‘A drink’ means scotch, anything else and Jack will specify. The golden liquid sings against the crystal as Brock pours it out, letting out a long breath as he carries the glass back to Jack. 

Jack takes the glass, tapping his fingers against the sides as his eyes crawl over Brock again. No mercy. “So how should we spend the evening?” he finally asks. A question. Brock wants to whine, but forces himself to swallow his distress.

“W-whatever…” he mumbles, looking down.

“Whatever?” Jack chuckles. Brock’s teeth fix in his lip as he nods. Sometimes—most of the time—he does have an opinion, but not tonight. Not when Jack’s casting this kind of spell.

“Whatever you want,” he shrugs. He hears Jack chuckle, and feels warm fingers nudging his head up gently.

“What’s got you all sweet tonight?”

As if Jack doesn’t know. Heat builds under Brock’s skin, but he just shrugs again as his hands wring behind his back. Jack lets the moment languish before sighing.

“Go put on a movie,” he says. Brock breathes a sigh of relief. “Anything you like.”

Brock manages to nod, turning again, this time towards the tv. Jack finally showed him how to use it: which remotes to use, in what order, depending on what he wants to do. He’s been making full use of the thing while Jack’s been gone in the mornings, but right now he just flips to a movie he’s seen Jack watch before. Some art film, a lot of visual metaphors Brock can’t be bothered trying to decipher. Perfect for slipping further into the haze Brock finds himself lost in. 

Jack’s smiling when Brock turns back to face him, waving the younger man close again.

“Good choice,” he chuckles. Brock rolls his eyes to cover how he wants to preen under the approval. He’s by the couch again, close enough that Jack’s hand can brush against his stomach as it makes its way to his hip. “So are you sitting with me, or on the floor?”

Brock hesitates, shivering as Jack’s fingers rub soft circles into his hip. At least he knows the answer to this question, if only the answer weren’t sticking in his throat. “With you, please,” he whispers. Jack grins as he pulls Brock into his lap.

“You really are feeling sweet tonight, aren’t you?” he purrs. Brock shrugs weakly, tucking his head against Jack’s shoulder and letting his eyes close. Jack’s so warm, and the t-shirt he’s got on is soft against Brock’s cheek. It would be easy to nod off, if it weren’t for Jack’s wandering hands. Down his back, over his thighs…slipping under him to press against the base of the plug. Brock moans softly when Jack’s fingers begin to rub back and forth, rocking the plug inside him.

“Hush,” Jack sighs. Brock bites down on his tongue, but he can’t stop his hands from bunching up in Jack’s shirts.

Jack pushes the plug deeper and Brock squeaks at the sudden rush of pleasure, dissolving into a whine when Jack chuckles. A hand drifts up his back, tucking him in closer, and Brock huffs softly as he nuzzles Jack’s neck, letting his breath glide warm against the man’s skin, so he knows each little gasp Jack’s forcing out of him is felt, if not heard. It’s a small victory when Jack shifts underneath him and let’s out a long sigh.

“That mouth…” he mutters. Brock sneaks a little smile before nudging closer, so his parted lips press against Jack’s skin. Jack lets out a long breath. Barely audible, but Brock basks in it all the same.

And then, out of nowhere, Jack pushes him away, leaving Brock to gasp as his back hits the couch cushions. Jack’s hand is against his chest, pinning him down, and Brock can only look up with wide eyes as the older man leans over him.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Jack asks, a smirk crossing his face as Brock shivers.

“I-I don’t know…” he murmurs, as if Jack would just let it go. But the man just chuckles, dark and deep so Brock can feel the vibration in his chest as Jack moves closer.

“Trying to steal kisses?” he smirks. He’s between Brock’s legs now, his hand sliding up until it’s resting over Brock’s throat. No pressure, just a warning, or perhaps a promise, that he could stop Brock’s breath if he chose too. “Tell me, kitten, do you like getting kissed?”

“…y…yeah.” Brock barely manages to squeak out the word. But he has to be honest. He’s used to kissing, to being kissed, even by people who wanted nothing to do with him once they’d had their fun. He can’t help thinking it’s a little odd that Jack doesn’t…especially considering everything else Jack does do for him…

That thought is left to trail off as Brock’s mind goes silent, because Jack’s leaning down towards him, his smirk softened now. Brock can’t breathe, and it’s got nothing to do with Jack’s hand on his neck. Jack stops, with only inches between them now, his eyes glinting with amusement while Brock’s gaze jumps between the pale green and curl of his mouth.

Does Jack expect him to close the gap? He’d been the one initiating earlier…maybe Jack’s putting him on the spot on purpose… 

He tries to tip his head up, but Jack’s hand presses down immediately, and Brock barely manages to suck in a strangled gasp. That hand loosens after a moment, but Brock gets the message loud and clear, staying perfectly still as Jack edges closer again. He can feel the man’s breath on his lips now, warm and rich with the sharp scent of his drink. Brock can’t help a little whimper, one that has Jack chuckling.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” 

Brock nods immediately, and Jack just chuckles again as he presses closer, until no air is left between them. Brock quickly feels all air rush out of his lungs, too, as Jack’s lips touch his. 

There’s nothing that could be warning enough to prepare him for this.The kiss is soft, so soft. Just the faintest, lingering touch. Brock so surprised by it he doesn’t even close his eyes, blinking rapidly as his mind races, around and around nothing, then around again, coming up short each time. 

He keeps expecting it to turn into a bite, into something harsh, the way things usually do with them, but it doesn’t. It just stays soft, and turns deeper, searching, as Jack’s lips begin to move against his. 

With the encouragement, Brock finds himself kissing back, and weak sound slips out of him as their lips mold together. His hands are in Jack’s shirt now, desperately seeking anchor, refuge from a pressure building in his chest, spurred on by the heartbeat he can hear in his ears, shaking his whole body. Jack’s tongue pushes forward, and Brock lets him in, another pitiful sound squeaking out of him.

Thank god for the hand around his neck. 

The thought flashes through the heat warping his mind. Thank god for the weight keeping him grounded or else he thinks he’d drown in the most tender kiss anyone has ever given him… That pressure in his chest just keeps building, burning, too much for him to contain. And when Jack’s mouth is suddenly no longer there to stifle it, it erupts out of him as a broken little cry. 

His eyes fly open and his hands struggle to drag Jack back in for more, until he hears the man chuckle. Instantly, the world freezes, leaving Brock suspended as he looks up only to see Jack smirking at him.

“So sweet,” the man purrs, trailing his fingers down Brock’s throat. Brock feels his adam’s apple shift under that touch as he swallows thickly. He can see his hands trembling in Jack’s shirt…maybe his whole body is trembling, too. That would explain the furrow in Jack’s brow as the man looks him up and down. “Look at you…”

He leans down again, and Brock presses up, but he only finds himself chasing Jack’s lips, until the movement of the plug inside him has him gasping and stopping short. But Jack won’t allow that, not when he can cup his hand around the base of Brock’s skull and guide him closer.

“Come back to me, kitten,” he murmurs. Brock lets himself fall against Jack’s chest, knowing he’ll be caught. Jack takes control of his body and Brock gives it up readily, allowing himself to be pulled the rest of the way onto Jack’s lap, until he’s surrounded by the scent of the man’s skin.

Jack lets him breathe, lets him be warm and soft and quiet until he can finally blink open his eyes again and let out a long sigh. Jack laughs softly, brushing the back of his hand down Brock’s arm.

“And to think all I did was kiss you,” Jack smiles. Brock hides his face in Jack’s neck, resisting the urge to nip at the skin in retaliation. “You’re so responsive.”

“You like it,” Brock mutters, his face growing hot.

“That I do,” Jack nods. “And why not, when there’s so much fun I can have.”

Brock groans softly, letting his fingers curl into Jack’s shirt. Jack’s hand runs through his hair, and Brock gives in to a little smile as the man’s lips press against his forehead.

“Now stop being so distracting,” he murmurs, making Brock’s smile widen. “We’re going to miss the movie.”

Brock rolls his eyes, breathing out a long sigh as he curls against Jack again. His lips still hum with the sensation of having Jack’s against them, but for now, he can content himself with that.

And of course with Jack’s hands wandering up and down his body once again.

******

Brock isn’t sure how he gets to sleep anymore, considering the state he’s usually in, but every night, he somehow manages it, and every morning, the sunlight coming through the window of his room coaxes him awake in a silent house. 

It’s more natural to call his room ‘his’ now. His clothes are in the closet, his belongings littered across the shelves. He’s always been good about being tidy, but he puts extra effort in these days, since most everything is a gift from Jack. They just show up: a new phone, a laptop, and even more clothes, now that Jack has an idea of what he likes. Brock will find them waiting at the foot of his bed, along with little notes from Jack. Just short, innocent little things, each one signed with Jack’s name in elegant cursive.

Brock has every single one tucked away in the little box where he keeps the few precious items he took from home. Only recently has that box found a place on the bedside table, having previously been hidden away at the bottom of Brock’s old backpack. Its worn, faded leather stands out sharply amongst the other pristine decorations, but it’s comforting to have something old and familiar so close.

That box is the first thing his eyes fall on when he wakes up, just a few days after he and Jack shared their kiss. Out of habit, he reaches over to run his fingers over the smooth patterns in the lid. The nostalgia of it almost lulls him right back to sleep.

He lets out a long breath that turns into a groan as he arches his body in a stretch before flopping back against the mattress. Another sigh, and he rolls out of bed, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

He still sleeps in Jack’s shirts, despite the man’s efforts to offer him pajamas of his own. But nothing compares to the tent of silk that’s soft against his skin and warm with the smell of Jack. Each time one shirt begins to lose that scent, he goes in search of another.

Brock chuckles to himself. Jack’s protests about having all his shirts stolen have been getting fewer and fewer as he continues to come home to the sight of Brock wearing nothing but the fabric that clings to his skin wherever it touches him.

He makes his way into the hallway with a noisy yawn, pushing his hair out of his face again. It’s gotten longer on top and gets in the way now, but Jack seems to enjoy having more to grip onto, so Brock doesn’t complain.

He’s still scrubbing at his sleep-filled eyes when he reaches the top of the stairs, only to stop short when he hears Jack’s laugh coming from the kitchen. Surely, he didn’t sleep _that_ late…

The clock on the wall tells him no, and as he starts down the steps, he can hear that Jack is talking to someone. On the phone, presumably, since Brock can’t hear anyone else. He feels a bit of warmth come into his face at the affection in Jack’s voice. Clearly, this is someone he knows…someone he likes.

Brock peers around the kitchen door to see Jack leaning against the counter, a mug in one hand, and his phone against his ear in the other. The warmth in Brock’s cheeks blooms hotter as he takes in the sweatpants and tank top the man’s wearing, tattoos on full display. Brock’s not sure he’s ever seen Jack so casual.

It’s not long before he’s noticed. Jack catches sight of him out of the corner of his eye and smiles softly, waving him closer. Brock gives a little smile back as he wanders over, tucking himself under Jack’s arm when it extends towards him. Jack hums in agreement to something the person on the other end of the line, smiling again.

“Ok,” he sighs. “Ok, mama, I gotta go.”

Brock bites his lip, caught between surprise and amusement. Jack’s not exactly the kind of guy he’d expect to say ‘mama’. He certainly doesn’t expect what comes next, either.

“Kei te aroha au i a koe.”

Jack looks at him as he says it, and Brock blinks at both the sudden onslaught of unfamiliar syllables and the tenderness with which Jack says them. Jack hangs up the phone and chuckles, and something glinting his eyes has Brock glancing away.

“Good morning,” Jack murmurs.

“Morning,” Brock replies. He rests his head against Jack’s shoulder, smiling faintly when his cheek meets Jack’s warm skin. “Mama, huh?”

“Well, you know what they say about old habits,” Jack sighs. Brock rolls his eyes, letting them close when Jack’s arm tightens around his shoulders momentarily. “So, I assume you’re interested in having coffee?”

“Hell yes.”

Jack laughs again, pointing Brock in the direction of the coffee pot—as if he doesn’t know by now—before heading to the table. That doesn’t stop him from staring, however. Brock can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as Jack watches him. It’s a sensation he should probably be accustomed to by now. And in any case, his mind has more important things to spin over…

_Mama_.

By the time Brock’s sitting down, Jack’s absorbed in something on his phone and doesn’t seem to notice Brock’s wandering gaze. Jack’s glasses perched on his nose now—where he pulled them from, Brock isn’t sure—and the dark frames stand out sharply against his face. Brock chews the inside of his cheek as he watches Jack’s tongue slide against his lip, picking up a stray drip of coffee.

He’s almost certain that whatever language Jack spoke on the phone is the same one Brock couldn’t recognize in those books in the library. Same vowels, or so he assumes from how he’d tried to sound them out. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he tries the words on his tongue again.

“Kei te aroha…” 

Jack looks up as soon as he hears Brock mumbling the words under his breath. Obviously, his attentiveness was underestimated.

“What was that?” he chuckles, raising an eyebrow as his mouth curls into a smirk. Brock shrugs, and finds he can’t hold Jack’s gaze.

“What you said on the phone,” he mutters, drumming his fingers along his mug. “Kei te aroha…”

“Au i a koe.” 

Brock nods, swallowing heavily when Jack’s smirk broadens. He’s being toyed with, he can feel it.

“Go on, try the whole thing,” Jack murmurs.

Brock huffs, a little too dramatic given the situation, but when Jack’s gaze won’t let up, he gives in. “Kei te aroha…au i a koe.”

Jack nods, his eyes flicking over Brock’s face, which begins to glow with heat.

“And your pronunciation isn’t bad either,” Jack murmurs, finally,glancing back at his phone. Brock shifts in an attempt to settle himself and hopefully the flutter in his stomach, hiding himself in a sip of coffee.

“So what’s it mean?”

Jack glances up, but doesn’t raise his head as he grins. “Hm?”

“What does it mean?” Brock repeats. If Jack’s gonna make such a big deal over getting him to say it, the least he could do is translate.

But Jack just chuckles, leaning back in his chair. His smirk has returned, spreading slowly across his face. Smug. Instantly, Brock knows he’s not going to get an answer.

“You know, I could use a refill,” Jack sighs, nudging his mug towards Brock. “Think you can do that for me?”

Brock huffs again, dragging his tongue over his teeth as he grabs the mug—barely more than half empty—and pushes himself up.

Damn him. 

“Thank you, kitten.”

The petname whacks Brock in the stomach, hard enough to stop him in his tracks. His cheeks puff out with a sigh as he forces his feet to move again, ignoring the little curls of warmth that tickle the base of his spine. It’s a relief to be enveloped by the smell of coffee and the sound of liquid swirling through ceramic.

“You seemed surprised when you saw me,” Jack calls. Brock snorts. 

“Well it’s not like I ever see you before noon.”

“Fair enough,” Jack smiles, waiting until Brock’s turned towards him again before continuing. “I didn’t have a job this morning. I do have one tonight, though, but that still gives us the day to ourselves.”

Brock nods, handing over Jack’s mug. Their hands brush as he does, Jack’s long fingers covering his own for a split-second as the weight of the cup shifts between them. The shiver that runs through Brock feels ridiculous. It’s not like he and Jack never touch, there’s no reason a little brush should light him up like that…

And yet here he is, all lit up with Jack staring at him. 

He drops back down into his seat and props his feet up on the opposite chair. It’s been quiet for too long, but Jack doesn’t seemed to mind. He’s always comfortable with silence when it’s at Brock’s expense.

Finally Brock shakes himself, quashing that little shiver with a rich gulp of coffee.

“So you had the morning off and decided to call your mother?” he mutters. Jack finds the question terribly amusing, letting his head fall back as he chuckles. 

“She called me, actually.” Brock starts chewing on his cheek again. “She does that from time to time.”

Brock nods slowly, taking another sip of coffee. “Didn’t know you had family…”

“Doesn’t everybody?” 

Brock can’t resist a scoff as he casts his gaze over to Jack. He seems to have caught the man in the middle of setting down his mug, and a beat passes before the thing clunks against wood. Glasses meet the table next, after having been delicately folded. Brock’s eyes follow them, but as far as he can tell, Jack’s gaze never wavers.

“My mother and sisters live pretty far away, unfortunately,” he sighs. “I haven’t seen them face-to-face in a long time.”

Sisters, too. Brock forces himself to nod, but he’s back to staring into his cup. “You close with them?” It’s hard to imagine the answer being yes. Jack’s got no pictures of anyone, anywhere. That’s bare minimum, isn’t it? Even Brock knows that…even he has—

Jack’s sigh is unexpected enough to make Brock look up. Jack is leaning back once again, hitting his fingers against the table. The unsteady rhythm resounds throughout the room. “It’s complicated,” he eventually murmurs, the faintest glimmer of humor in his eyes. “But family always is, right?”

“I guess,” Brock mutters. Guessing is all he can do, the words fall awfully flat for him. ‘Complicated’ could never be enough…

Jack’s heard his hesitation, and his staring has grown more insistent. Brock can feel the curiosity in his gaze pricking at his skin. His own curiosity reflected right back at him; what else should he have expected?

He bites his lip, tearing at dead skin, and feels it give way into bleeding. He shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have said a goddamn thing because now Jack is going to want something in return.

Jack’s tapping his stopped, and Brock watches with a parched throat as the man’s hand draws briefly into a fist before flattening out again. Brock’s gaze darts to the opposite wall, his body curling forward, his hand running through his hair. Please don’t ask, please don’t ask—

“That picture you’ve got, that’s your mother, isn’t it?”

Brock feels his stomach hit the floor, but his head whips up, his voice erupting out of him. “When did you see that?!” He’s never shown that picture to anyone, always keeping it safe and hidden. There’s no way Jack could’ve seen it.

Jack’s shock is obvious at the anger in Brock’s voice, green eyes blinking wide and silent. Brock’s never raised his voice at Jack before, though, to be fair, he’s never had cause. 

“You fell asleep with your light on the other night,” Jack explains, once he finds his voice. Brock’s throat constricts, choking any further protest. “I went in to turn it off, and I saw the picture in that box you keep on your nightstand.”

Jack’s still talking, but Brock can barely hear him. His heartbeat is too loud in his ears.

“I could only assume you were related, you look just like her.”

Brock stops breathing. Always the same. Always the only thing anyone can see… He should know better than to pray that he can avoid what he knows is coming, but he still tries and still fails.

“You both have the same eyes…”

Oh god.

“And the same smile—”

“Stop.”

He’s not sure how he gets the word out, but his does, and Jack immediately goes quiet. He even narrows his eyes in concern while Brock wrestles against the confines of his own chest, struggling to start breathing again. “What’s the matter?”

Brock doesn’t respond, can’t respond. One word was already too much and now his throat is too tight, swollen shut around memories. Same smile…

“Brock?”

A hand reaches out for him, and on instinct, Brock flinches away from it, jumping up when he hears something smash against the floor. His chair is suddenly gone from underneath him, and the floor pitches and swells, fighting off his attempts at a solid footing.

“Brock!”

Hands reach for him again, clasping around his arms, and this time he can’t hold in a whimper. Please, please, he can’t…

“Brock, look at me!”

Brock’s eyes fly open at once, and he freezes when he finds himself staring up into green eyes. Green eyes that are full of concern.

Slowly, Brock registers the scent of coffee—made stronger by having been splattered across the floor—and the feeling of Jack’s hands stroking his arms gently. Humiliation crashes over him, turning his skin hot and twisting in his stomach.

He yanks away, and Jack doesn’t stop him, though he does call Brock’s name one more time as the younger man runs towards the stairs. 

Brock can’t get into his room fast enough, slamming the door shut and collapsing against it. His gasping breaths as he slides to the floor have nothing to do with his mad dash. 

He doesn’t have words for why sweat gathers on his palms or why his head begins to spin, throbbing with his own heartbeat. Why, despite how he continues to gasp, his lungs only ache with emptiness.

Same eyes, same smile, same laugh…

His eyes are burning now, sticky wetness clinging to his cheeks. Why did Jack have to say that?!

He groans as soon as the thought enters his mind, his hands twisting into his hair and his legs curling up to his chest. It’s not Jack’s fault. How could it be? How could he know…

Another sound escapes him, this time a whimper, his hands pulling roughly on his hair now. He’s the one who’s gonna be in trouble. He broke a cup, he yelled at Jack, and then he just ran away. Jack’s gonna be mad, Jack’s gonna hate him. Stupid, useless—

“Brock?”

He flinches at the sound of his name from the other side of the door, followed by a soft tap that he can almost feel against his back. 

“Are you alright?”

Brock could almost laugh at the question. At how ridiculous it is. Maybe he would be laughing if it felt like he could get in a proper breath, if his whole body weren’t still vibrating, his hands numb despite how they grip and pull at his hair of their own accord. 

Jack’s patient, Brock has to give him that. Seconds tick by with only dead air to fill them before Jack tries again.

“May I come in?”

Brock’s hands yank more roughly at his hair, until he whines. 

“I’m not angry with you, I just want to see that you’re ok.”

Of course Jack’s not angry. Brock could kick himself for thinking he would be. If Jack was angry, he wouldn’t have asked permission. He would have just forced his way in…

It’s still silent, painfully silent, so Brock knows Jack can hear it when he pushes himself onto his knees, just high enough so he can reach the doorknob. He doesn’t quite make it off the floor, and even that little movement is hard. His joints are heavy, aching as he forces them to work.

The door clicks open, and Brock falls back as Jack steps in. Brock’s not sure if he’s grateful or heartbroken when Jack doesn’t reach for him this time.

“Hey,” Jack murmurs, easing down in front of Brock. Brock tries to nod, his voice a lost cause. “Are you alright?”

The same question again, slapping him across the face with its gentleness. He shakes his head, his hand in his hair again. If he can’t string together an answer, he’s probably not ok, right?

Jack sighs. Brock can barely stand to look at him for all the worry in his eyes. Maybe even pity. He can’t blame Jack. He’s pretty pitiful right now, with his puffy eyes and blotches of red on his skin.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Brock’s quick to shake his head at that, sniffling as he wipes his hand over his face. The last thing he needs is to be alone with his own thoughts right now. Jack nods, and for a moment, quiet settles again. 

“What do you need?”

Brock almost screams. Doesn’t Jack know by now what questions do to him?! But the only sound that does escape him is a broken sound. Jack gets the message nonetheless.

“Easy,” he whispers, his voice low, barely more than a hum. Brock finds himself flinching when Jack pushes up onto his knees and extends his hands, despite how slow the movement is. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs. “But I would like to get you off the floor, if that’s alright?”

Brock’s lip slips between his teeth, but he fumbles through another nod. Jack’s arms are warm around him as he’s pulled up, and his chest is sturdy enough for Brock to lean heavily against it. He can’t feel his legs. Not enough to move them, at least. But Jack’s always been good at taking care of him when he can’t move or talk. The man picks him up with almost no effort, carrying him towards the bed, where Brock feels himself being laid down. Jack tries to pull back, but Brock manages to make his hands work just enough to grab at the man’s shirt and keep him close. Jack chuckles softly, obliging.

“If you insist,” he sighs, settling down on his side next to Brock, who curls closer at once and shuts his eyes against the brightness still streaming through the window. Jack’s fingers run through his hair, and Brock nuzzles closer, as if hiding his face in Jack’s chest is any better than letting his embarrassment show. 

Minutes pass, and Brock begins to feel his body again. His feet, his knees, the palms of his hands, his chest—the chest is a relief, at least he can breathe. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. 

“It’s alright.”

“I broke your cup…”

“We have more.”

Brock shakes his head. “It’s stupid,” he groans.

“No, it’s not,” Jack replies. “I don’t know what I did to set it off, but it’s not stupid.” Brock groans, nuzzling into Jack’s chest more. Jack’s still playing with his hair, curling it around his fingers. “Can you tell me what set it off, so I won’t do it again?”

Brock shrugs weakly. He just got his voice back, does Jack really want to make him lose it again? “It’s never happened before…” 

“But I think you know what caused it,” Jack urges. Brock just sighs. It’s not as if Jack’s wrong.

Brock shakes his head and rolls away from Jack. Not too far, still close enough to feel Jack’s bodyheat, just so he’s on his opposite side. His old box is directly in front of him now, right where it always is. His fingers itch to reach inside, to hold something familiar.

What’s the harm if Jack’s already had a look?

He reaches out, pulling the box closer until he can get the lid open. Jack’s little paper notes—he supposes Jack’s seen those too now—rustle softly as Brock digs through them to get to the photo. 

It’s just an average four-by-six, faded from being handled so often, but the image is clear enough. Brock, maybe five or six years old, on his mother’s lap. Her arms are around him, holding him tight against her chest, both of them smiling at the camera.If he stares at it hard enough he can almost remember what it felt like to have her hold him like that, how her hair always smelled like flowers…

What he doesn’t remember is when it was taken—doesn’t remember ever smiling like that—and he’s loathe to think who must’ve been behind the camera. He’s just had the picture for as long as he can remember, and now it’s all he’s got.

He lays the photo next to him on the bed, drawing his knees up to his chest. Jack’s chest presses against his back now, and Brock shudders at the sudden rush of warmth when the man’s arm wraps around him. 

“She’s beautiful,” Jack murmurs. Brock scoffs under his breath.

“She was.”

Silence. Brock feels Jack’s sigh drifting through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “What—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Silence again. Jack combs back a few locks of Brock’s hair, only to have Brock shake them back over his face. Longer hair does have some perks, after all. “I guess you don’t want to talk about why you were on the run either.”

Brock nods, curling in on himself as his breath catches, sticking in his throat. Even if he wanted to talk, he doesn’t think his body would let him. Jack’s arm is pinned against his chest now, but Jack just shifts closer to accommodate him.

“Guess it’s not really fair for me to be asking you all these questions when you don’t even know that much about me,” Jack mutters. Brock shrugs.

“I don’t care…” It might be a lie, he’s not sure. Jack doesn’t press him one way or another, just lets the quiet linger. Brock watches the photo next to him, how the eyes of the people in it seem to follow him, no matter how he tries to turn his head or hide his face.

“I should take you out,” Jack murmurs. Brock hums, noncommittal and lackluster. “Maybe in the next few days, just to get you out of the house. Would you like that?”

Brock sighs when the question hits his ears, shrugging the shoulder that isn’t pressed into the bed. “I don’t know what we’d do…”

“Would you trust me to decide on something for us?”

This time, Brock’s nodding without even needing to think. Jack’s chuckle ghosts against his neck.

“So you trust me with everything, except all your secrets?”

Brock groans, tugging away from Jack so he can press his face into the pillow fully. “Fuck off…” he mumbles, his words lost in the fabric.

“What was that?” Jack laughs.

Brock’s lips buzz against the pillow as he groans again, squirming when Jack’s fingertips trail down the back of his neck. He rolls onto his back, or tries to, at least, running into Jack before he makes it even half way. It’s a lot less easy to snap when green eyes are looking down at him. “I said don’t make fun of me,” he amends.

“Is that what you said?” Jack grins. Brock’s about to give in and correct himself until Jack leans down to kiss his forehead. As soon as the man’s lips touch his skin, Brock feels his whole body go lax, sinking into the bed. Even when Jack pulls away, a few moments have to pass before he can pry his eyes back open.

“My mistake,” Jack smiles, laughing softly when Brock purses his lips. “I thought you said something completely different.”

Brock rolls his eyes, but they find their way back to Jack’s face soon enough. Jack’s hand is rested over his stomach now, rising and falling with his breath. Brock finds a little heat working into his cheeks at the fact that that hand is almost broad enough to cover the entire width of his waist. 

“I’ll leave if you want to be alone,” Jack murmurs. Brock shakes his head, just the barest tipping side-to-side. Jack doesn’t take any more convincing.

Brock shifts onto his side again, and Jack moves with him, one arm firm around Brock’s waist, the other sliding under his head, so Brock’s cheek is cushioned against his bicep. The little boy in the picture looks back at Brock, who feels a lump rising in his throat as he struggles for his next breath.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his body curling tighter. It’s not enough, but what could be? “F-for everything, you know…”

Jack’s close enough that Brock can feel him nod. “You’re welcome, kitten,” he sighs. “Happy to do it.”


	5. Chapter 5

Brock spends nearly the whole day in Jack’s arms after his sudden outpouring of honesty. Somehow it feels so natural to be cuddled and petted while they lay in bed and watch movies on his new laptop. Jack doesn’t press him with questions, and Brock hides a blush each time Jack leans over him to switch to something new. His efforts turned out to be pretty futile, however, since Jack chuckles softly every time.

Jack tucks him under his blanket when he has to leave for whatever job he has in the evening, and Brock finds himself curling up tight in an effort to replace the warmth Jack took with him. He falls asleep eventually, though, with the imagined feeling of warm arms wrapped around him

But when he wakes up the next day, those arms are very much absent, and the realization sits like a rock in Brock’s stomach. He even reaches out to feel the space next to him, his hand balling into a fist when he finds it cold.

It’s dumb, but maybe he had wanted to wake up to Jack, if only to see what he looks like first thing in the morning. Eyes half-closed, hair imperfect…his voice would probably be lower too. Brock shudders at the thought.

Yeah, he’d really wanted to see that.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, nervousness making the rock in his stomach start to churn. He can’t help but wonder if Jack will still be interested in him after yesterday’s display. He probably wouldn’t even blame Jack if he had lost interest. It’s not exactly attractive for somebody to lose control over a couple of words…

The hallway seems to stretch on farther than usual, though maybe it’s his steps that are more hesitant. The light in Jack’s office is on, and door is ajar, so it’s no surprise when he peeks around the corner and sees Jack at his desk. Brock’s toes curl in, his knees bumping together as he taps his knuckles against the doorframe.

Jack looks up, and his smile has Brock letting out a sigh of relief. When a hand extends towards him, beckoning him closer, Brock has to force himself not to run across the room and into Jack’s arms. Jack chuckles as he guides Brock onto his lap, tucking his arm around Brock’s waist while Brock settles his head under Jack’s chin.

“Did you miss me or something?” Jack teases.

“Shuddup,” Brock mutters. Jack laughs again, and his thumb rubs slow circles on Brock’s waist, until Brock’s eyes slip closed. 

“Feeling better today?”

Brock nods, though his face gets hot at the mention of the previous day. Not like Jack would forget… But Jack just sighs, sounding pleased.

“Glad to hear it, kid.”

It should make him feel better, but the ‘kid’ sticks in his throat, making his hands curl tighter into Jack’s shirt. Jack almost never calls him ‘kid’ anymore, that’s what he’d called him when they barely knew each other…

“So did you give any thought to going out tonight?”

Brock just shrugs, though the question is reassuring. Jack wouldn’t still want to take him out if he’d lost interest, right? 

“Would you rather go some other night?”

“No, tonight’s fine,” Brock says quickly. Jack chuckles, sighing as he leans back in his chair.

“So where should we go?” he asks.

“I dunno,” Brock mutters. “Not like there’s anything around here.”

Jack barks a laugh, sliding his hands down to Brock’s thighs. “There are a few things I can think of.”

“Like what?”

Jack shrugs. “Well I’m sure we could find a restaurant in the city.”

Knowing Jack, any restaurant he picks would probably end up being some posh place where Brock couldn’t recognize anything on the menu. Brock wrinkles his nose without even thinking, and Jack snorts, taking the hint.

“Alright, no restaurant,” he says. “A movie?”

“We can watch movies here,” Brock whines.

“So picky,” Jack teases. Nervousness boils in Brock again, but Jack soothes it with slow strokes up and down his thighs. “I’ve seen you eyeing my gun more than once, what if I take you to a shooting range and show you how to use it?”

“No.”

The word flies out of Brock’s mouth faster than he can even think about stopping it. Jack stares at him, clearly bewildered, and Brock has to look away. He wants to take it back, but he can’t. The thought of holding a gun, firing a gun…

Not now. The nausea choking him tells him that much. Maybe one day, but not now, not yet.

Jack still hasn’t said anything, and Brock thinks he may give into his nausea if he does. Please don’t ask, please don’t ask—

“Ok.”

Brock’s head jerks back to face Jack, who just shrugs, cocking a little grin. “I learned my lesson,” he continues. “You’ll tell me stuff when you’re ready to.”

Brock nods, breathing a sigh of relief that has Jack chuckling.

“But, if you don’t mind me asking,” Jack starts, and Brock bites his lip in anticipation, “what did you used to do for fun?”

“Oh…” Brock falters for a moment. What had he done for fun?

“Aside from petty crime and ‘messing around’,” Jack chuckles. Brock snorts

“What do you mean ‘aside from’?” he mutters. It had been that, or hiding in his bedroom, more or less…

Jack sighs, his fingers drumming against Brock’s thigh, green eyes studying Brock’s face. Brock chews the inside of his cheek, at a loss for anything to say. He sounds so pathetic when Jack makes him admit it out loud.

But Jack just nods, stroking Brock’s thighs again. “Then maybe we should just go out to that bar where we met,” he offers. Brock feels the back of his neck grow hot at just the mention.

“It’s a very casual place, shouldn’t be too intimidating,” Jack smiles. “I think you might enjoy yourself, if you can resist the temptation to steal someone’s bike.”

“Don’t need to,” Brock grins. “You had the best looking bike there.”

Jack chuckles. “In that case, what do you say?”

Brock shrugs. “Sounds pretty good to me.” A seedy bar in the middle of nowhere, at least it’s the kind of place he’s familiar place. “Bet you have something in mind for me to wear.”

“Not yet,” Jack smirks. “But I’ll certainly give it some thought.”

Brock rolls his eyes, looking down when Jack cups the back of his head and kisses his forehead. One peaceful moment before Jack’s hand comes down against his ass, hard and suddenly enough to make him yip.

“Now why don’t you go get us both some coffee?”

Brock huffs, slouching off of Jack’s lap. “Yes, sir,” he mumbles, sarcasm lacing his voice as he heads for the door.

“Thank you, kitten.”

Brock nearly walks into the door, pouting as he casts a glance over his shoulder. Jack’s smirking at him over the rims of his glasses, all too pleased with his work.

******

Jack ends up picking something out for him after all. Brock had gotten dressed on his own, and is busy fussing with his hair in the bathroom when Jack comes in, slipping behind him and wrapping his arms around Brock’s waist.

“Don’t you look sweet,” he murmurs. Brock rolls his eyes, glancing down at the bundle of fabric in Jack’s hand.

“But you still think I need an improvement?” 

Jack smiles, pressing the fabric—a shirt—into Brock’s hand. “I might at that.” 

Brock shakes his head, unrolling the shirt and squawking when he sees the design. The shirt itself is one of those open-sided tanktops Jack loves to put him in, black, but emblazoned on the front in rhinestone cursive are two words: ‘Pretty Baby’.

“You’ve got to be kidding…”

“Why would I?” Jack chuckles, shifting his hands to hold Brock’s waist. “I think you’ll look very cute in it.”

Brock huffs, his cheeks puffing out as he sends a half-hearted glare at Jack through the mirror. Jack just smirks in reply.

“Go ahead, put it on.”

Brock huffs again when Jack steps back, though he doesn’t leave the bathroom. Brock doesn’t bother complaining, just shrugs off his tshirt and pulls on the tanktop. He might as well be naked for all that’s covered, and the words on the front make him burn up to the tops of his ears.

“What are you gonna do once it gets to be winter and you can’t send me out half-naked anymore?” he mutters. Jack laughs, sliding his arms around Brock again, and this time letting his hands slip through the open sides.

“I’ll just have to bundle you up, and take you some place warm enough so you can strip all those layers off again.”

Brock wants to respond, to say something, but Jack’s hands are wandering up his chest, and all that escapes him is a little whimper when careful fingers close around his nipples. Jack tugs slightly and Brock has to brace himself against the counter.

“You make the sweetest faces, you know that?” Jack purrs. Brock whines, staring pointedly at the counter. Jack’s having none of that, and doesn’t hesitate to grab Brock’s hair, making the younger man winces as he drags his head up. “Take a look.”

Brock whines, his eyes still cast off to the side, but falls to crying out when Jack tugs on his hair again. 

“Look, kitten.”

Brock bites his lip, but his eyes flick to his reflection in the mirror. What he sees has him whimpering again. Cheeks flushed, hair falling in his eyes…and when Jack’s hand shifts to his cock, that whole face changes. His eyes nearly fall shut, and his mouth falls open, panting weakly as Jack rubs him. Like it’s not even him, it’s all Jack. The only thing he can do is watch.

“See? That shirt fits you,” Jack murmurs. “Pretty baby.”

Brock groans, but his cock starts to throb between his legs, which nearly give out when Jack squeezes him unexpectedly.

And just as quickly Jack pulls away, leaving Brock to slump against the counter. 

“We’ll leave in a few minutes,” Jack says, smirking at Brock through the mirror when the younger man raises his head. “Don’t put too much effort into that pretty head of hair, we’re taking my bike, and you’re wearing a helmet.”

Brock pouts, letting his head fall against the cool marble of the counter top. One of these days, he’s just going to drop dead from Jack’s teasing.

He drags himself out of the bathroom soon enough, after nearly giving in to the temptation to just get himself off. 

Jack smiles at him. “Ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Brock shrugs. Jack tucks him under his arm, leading him out to the garage. Jack straddles his motorcycle effortlessly, and Brock feels his still half-hard cock give a little twitch in his jeans, especially when Jack looks him up and down and shrugs off his leather jacket, revealing the tattoos that wind up his arms.

“Here,” he says, handing the jacket to Brock. “The wind can be hell if you’re not covered up.”

Brock nods, taking the jack and slipping it on. It’s massive on him, but zipped up it’s warm, and Jack’s scent enfolds him. He takes a deep breath on instinct, just praying Jack doesn’t notice.

“What about you?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’ll live,” Jack shrugs, flashing a grin as he hands Brock his helmet next. Brock rolls his eyes but obediently buckles it into place. Jack nods, satisfied. “Well get on.” 

Brock does, hesitating before wrapping his arms around Jack’s torso. Jack chuckles, and the bike roars to life beneath them. Brock moans softly when the vibration goes right between his legs.

“Hold on tight, kitten.”

Brock huffs, but presses his face into Jack’s shoulder as they take off. He’s grateful for the jacket almost immediately, his arms tightening around Jack as the road races by underneath them. Brock just closes his eyes and leans into Jack, and before he’s knows it, they’re stopped again, and he can hear the sounds of music and laughter in the distance. 

Jack shifts, and Brock quickly slides off the bike to make way for him, unclipping the helmet just as quickly. Jack takes it from him, and keeps his hand extended as well. 

“I’ll take my jacket back now, kitten,” he smirks.

Brock frowns, but Jack just continues to smile at him. After a few seconds, he huffs, unzipping the jacket and shoving it into Jack’s hand. Jack chuckles, slipping the jacket back on as his gaze wanders up and down Brock’s body, obviously appreciative. Brock pouts, crossing his arms over the hideous rhinestones. 

“Well, let’s not waste the night out here,” Jack smiles, resting his arm around Brock’s shoulders. Brock sighs, resting his cheek against Jack’s chest as he’s led towards the entrance. 

The bar is just raucous as Brock would’ve expected, and he compulsively shifts closer to Jack, who smiles broadly and nods to the people who wave at them. Wolf whistles ring through the air as people take notice of Brock, too. Brock just tucks his arms tighter around his chest, grateful once they’re sequestered away in a booth.

“How did you even find this place?” he snorts. Jack smiles, his arm still around Brock’s shoulders.

“Stumbled across it several years ago,” he says. “Found a lot of good work here, when I was first starting out.”

Brock raises an eyebrow. “Work?”

“Taking care of certain…problems, for people who could pay me,” he shrugs. “I didn’t really have anything to lose, and I found out I was pretty good at it.”

Brock nods slowly, though Jack’s giving him more questions than answers. He opens his mouth to voice that concern, but his train of thought is interrupted when a waitress comes over to the table, already with a glass prepared, which she slides towards Jack.

“Took care of your usual,” she smiles, so her mass of auburn curls shifting with the tilt of her head.

“Thank you, Maggie,” he grins picking up the glass. Maggie turns her gaze to Brock, who gives a weak half-smile. 

“And what’ll you be having?”

Brock shrugs. “Whatever he’s having, I guess.” Maggie grins, glancing at Jack when the older man clears his throat.

“Just get him a soda or something.” Maggie nods, and Brock rolls his eyes as she walks away. 

“I can’t even have a real drink?” he mutters, slouching against Jack’s side.

“You’re not old enough,” Jack says simply. Brock frowns, but Jack’s fingers start tracing circles on his upper arm, and he finds he doesn’t want to argue. Maggie brings him his drink and he thanks her absentmindedly.

“You want anything to eat?”

Brock shrugs, glancing up at Jack. Seems easiest to ask the person who’s been here before. “Whatever’s good.”

Jack chuckles, ordering something for him that he doesn’t quite hear. He perks up however, when Jack continues. “And he’s allergic to peanuts, so make sure nothing like that gets in there.”

Brock feels his whole body flush, while Maggie nods, heading away from their table once again. 

“You remembered that?” Brock murmurs, once she’s safely out of earshot.

“You thought I would forget?” Jack replies. Brock can’t seem to muster a response, slouching down once again and chugging a sip from the bottle in his hand as if it’s actual beer and not just root beer. 

“Were you going to say something?”

“Hm?” Brock looks up at Jack again, frowning.

“Before we were interrupted,” Jack clarifies, “you looked like you were going to say something.”

“Oh,” Brock mumbles, digging through his mind to try and recover the lost train of thought. “I just…you said you didn’t have anything to lose when you started doing… whatever.” Jack chuckles at the mimicked vagueness. “What did that mean?”

Jack sighs, his hand wandering up to delicately brush a lock of hair back from Brock’s forehead. “Let’s just say that there’s a reason I have a soft spot for young men in desperate situations.”

Brock nods slowly, but can’t quite seem to keep the disappointment out of his face. Jack notices almost immediately and, soon enough, he’s chuckling.

“Is that your ‘do better’ face?”

Brock snorts, but finds he can’t quite hold Jack’s gaze. Really, what right does he have to pry for details, when he hasn’t given up any himself? He hears Jack sigh again, and his eyes close when Jack’s hand wanders to the back of his neck this time, tracing circles again.

“I told you my mom and sisters live far away,” he starts. “Well, far away is all the way in New Zealand.”

“Seriously?” Brock interjects, and Jack just smiles as he nods. “But you don’t have an accent or anything…”

“I’ve lived in the states since I was seven, I just lost it over time,” he shrugs. “My father brought me here when he and my mom divorced.” He sighs shaking his head. “But, moral of the story is, the my father and I didn’t get along too well, so when I was seventeen, I ran away. Ended up in this place eventually, and since I didn’t really have any money or ID, I couldn’t afford to turn people down when they started offering me money, no matter what they were asking me to do.” 

Brock finds himself nodding dumbly, at a loss for anything to say. To his relief, Maggie reappears, setting plates in front of them both. Jack thanks her, and Brock picks up a french fry, chewing it gingerly as he mulls over Jack’s story in his mind. The details are off, but he can’t help but squirm a little at how closely the story parallels his own. 

“Why didn’t you go back to be with your mom?” he asks softly, once a few moments of silence have passed. Jack just shrugs.

“Those kinds of plane tickets are expensive,” he says. “I didn’t have the money for a long time.”

“But you do now,” Brock insists. He’s seen Jack’s house. The man very obviously has the money to fly around the world a dozen times. Jack smiles vaguely, and for a few seconds Brock thinks he’s going to avoid the question, but then he turns his penetrating green gaze on Brock, who very suddenly finds he can’t breathe. 

“I guess maybe I still haven’t forgiven her for letting my dad take me away.”

Brock blinks. And then blinks again. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Jack’s grinning again in no time.

“Too much honesty?”

“No!” Brock says quickly, and Jack chuckles. “No, I just…didn’t expect it…?”

That’s evidently the best he can come up with, but it seems to be enough, because Jack smiles and slides his arm around Brock’s shoulders again. Brock tucks himself against Jack’s side with no hesitation, stuffing another fry in his mouth. Jack starts eating as well, though he’s a hell of a lot more delicate about it: carefully picking up his burger with a napkin and taking a small bite, immediately tidying his mouth with a separate napkin and washing down the bite with a sip of his drink. He goes through the same…ritual, is the only word Brock can think of, before Brock finally gives in and snorts.

“Something funny?” Jack asks, resting his drink on his knee as he glances down at Brock. 

Brock shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing,” Jack prompts, nudging Brock’s side and grinning when Brock squeaks. “Tell me.”

Brock rolls his eyes, but finally answers. “Just that if I hadn’t met you here, I’d never expect to see you hanging out in a place like this?”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t know,” Brock shrugs. “You seem too…posh for it.”

Jack laughs loud enough to draw a few eyes in the room to shift towards them, a realization that makes Brock’s face start to heat up. “You’re actually not the first person to tell me that,” Jack says, still chuckling. Brock finds himself smiling, too.

“Guess I’m just too used to seeing you in an armchair with a book and glass of scotch,” he smirks. Jack laughs again, tapping his fingers against his glass.

“Well if it makes you feel any better, I’ve still got the scotch.”

“I figured,” Brock nods. “I’ve poured you enough glasses to know what it looks like.”

“I suppose you have,” Jack muses, taking another sip. “Did you ever sneak a taste?”

“No,” Brock says, like it’s obvious. He’d genuinely never thought to, not when Jack was always just a few feet away. Jack nods, a curious expression crossing his face.

“Would you like to?”

Brock raises an eyebrow. “Thought I was too young?”

“Too young for me to buy you liquor,” Jack shrugs. “But maybe a taste can’t hurt.”

He slides his glass towards Brock, who doesn’t hesitate to pick it up with a bemused smile. Jack nods to him, and he quickly takes a drink.

Immediately, he regrets the decision.

The drink burns his mouth almost bad enough to make him want to spit it out, but swallowing it is no better. It blooms like black smoke in his throat and lungs, and he nearly drops the glass in an effort to shove it back towards Jack while coughing like he’s dying.

Jack—the bastard—chuckles at the display, patting his back gently. “Guess I should’ve warned you—”

“How the fuck do you drink that shit?” Brock snaps when he finally finds air in his lungs instead of smoke. 

“It’s an acquired taste,” Jack shrugs. 

“Well I’m not interested in acquiring it,” Brock mutters, folding his arms over his chest and scooting the glass the rest of the way towards Jack. “Suits you better anyway,” he mumbles into his root beer, trying to clear the acrid taste from his tongue.

“You think so?” 

Brock falters, thinking he’d said the words soft enough that Jack wouldn’t hear it. “Y-yeah…” he stutters. “It uh…i-it smells good on you, you know?”

“Does it?”

Jack’s fingers are back to tracing light circles on Brock’s skin, but this time they’ve found their way to his waist. Brock can’t suppress a shudder, goosebumps breaking out across his skin.

“Yeah,” he repeats, swallowing thickly. “G-goes with your cologne.”

“You mean the same cologne you decided to steal for yourself tonight?”

Brock scoffs, opening his mouth to defend himself, but Jack’s hand rises higher, slipping under what little fabric there is covering his chest and grazing his nails over Brock’s nipples.

“Don’t bother, kitten, I smelled it as soon as I got within three feet of you,” Jack smiles. “I quite like it on you, actually.”

He pulls Brock in closer and leans in, so his lips can brush Brock’s ear. Brock gasps, his eyes fluttering shut when Jack’s mouth moves lower, nipping his neck sharply while he growls just loud enough to send more shivers down Brock’s spine.

“Jack!”

Brock could very well strangle whoever it is that shouts Jack’s name and distracts the man from what his mouth is doing against Brock’s neck. But he just bites his tongue, turning to glare in the direction of the disruption.

Turns out it’s a man, tall—though not as tall as Jack—with dark hair nearly down to his shoulders and piercing grey eyes. Just behind him, is a blond man, even shorter than Brock is, but gorgeous, with wide blue eyes and a hesitant, lopsided smile.

“James,” Jack replies warmly, smiling as the couple approaches them. Brock pouts, stuffing a couple more french fries in his mouth, since he’s clearly not the main attraction anymore.

“Good to see you,” James nods, extending his arm towards Jack, who claps his hand around it for a firm shake. His other arm hangs stiffly at his side, his hand covered in a glove. 

“Same to you,” Jack nods. His arm snakes it’s way back around Brock’s waist, and Brock presses against him and folds his arms over his chest, his gaze darting between the unwelcome new arrivals. The blond smiles politely at him, and James smirks.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he says to Jack. “But I see you’ve been keeping busy.”

Jack chuckles, squeezing Brock’s upper arm lightly. “This is Brock.”

“Nice to meet you,” James nods, extending his hand again. Brock looks at it and frowns, but Jack squeezes his arm again, and this time it’s a warning. He huffs and grabs James’ hand unwillingly, shaking once, then pulling back. But it’s long enough for James to catch sight of his shirt and grin.

“Pretty baby,” he chuckles. “Fitting. I didn’t know jailbait was Jack’s thing.”

“I’m not jailbait!” Brock snaps, pouting when he hears a chorus of chuckles around him. “I’m fucking twenty…”

James raises an eyebrow. “Twenty-years-old and he’s got you in a bar?” He glances at Jack again. “Thought you were more responsible that that?”

“He’s not drinking,” Jack smiles. “I’m being as responsible as I need to be.”

“Of course.” This time it’s the blond who speaks, his voice surprisingly low and satiny. James grins, his sharp grey eyes going soft as he casts his gaze towards the blond, shaking his head after a moment, as if snapping out of a daze.

“This is my Stevie, by the way,” he says, gesturing to the man at his side. ‘Stevie’ just rolls his eyes.

“Most people just call me Steve,” he says to Brock.

“R-right,” Brock responds, startled by the sudden gentleness in Steve’s voice. Jack’s hand is back to tracing circles on Brock’s arm, and Brock finds the fight bleeding out of him. 

“So how did you guys meet?”

Brock swallows thickly at the question, glancing up at Jack, who just looks back at him, clearly amused. “H-Here?” he shrugs, quickly turning back to Steve.

“He tried to steal my bike,” Jack adds. Steve and James both laugh, and Brock hunches over, suppressing a shiver when Jack’s fingers card through his hair. “But he was just too cute to leave on the side of the road.”

“Romantic,” James smirks, and Steve elbows him in the side. Brock leans into Jack’s side as he watches them share a meaningful look.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Steve says, pulling on James’ arm. “Come on, Buck.”

James smiles and gives a final nod as he allows himself to be dragged towards the bar. Brock watches them go, huffing as he snuggles into Jack’s side.

“Is that jealousy I see, kitten?”

“No,” Brock frowns, grabbing his burger from his plate and taking far too big a bite, his cheeks pouching out and ketchup smearing on his mouth. Jack chuckles, waiting patiently while Brock chews and avoids his gaze. As soon as Brock swallows, Jack’s wiping at his mouth with a napkin. Brock doesn’t bother pulling away, turning his eyes up to see Jack smiling at him.

“Are you sure that’s not jealousy?” he repeats. Brock hesitates, but nods. Jack shakes his head, relaxing back into his seat. Brock takes another bite of his burger, watching Jack out of the corner of his eyes.

“How do you know him?” he asks, his voice perhaps a touch too demanding.

“We used to be in the same line of work,” Jack says. “Worked together a few times.”

“Used to?” Brock frowns. Jack nods, glancing over to where James and Steve are at the bar. 

“James started out for pretty much the same reason I did: desperation. He was one of the most ruthless guys I’ve ever seen—”

“A ruthless private investigator?” 

Jack snorts, glancing at Brock and shaking his head. “Sure,” he mutters, and Brock’s eyes narrow. But before he can ask, Jack’s continuing with his story.

“Anyway, he got in a bad accident, lost most of his left arm,” Jack says. Brock nods. That must explain the glove. “Steve found his way back into his life around the same time, and I don’t know…it was like reconnecting with him snapped him out of some kind of trance. Changed his whole life after that.”

Brock follows Jack’s gaze as he glances over to where James and Steve are seated at the bar. Or rather, James is seated. Steve is on his lap, and Brock looks away and blinks rapidly when James pulls him into a kiss that bleeds passion even from across the room.

“Do they do the…the dom/sub thing?” he asks quietly.

“A little,” Jack nods. “He brought me to the first Domination club I ever went to, got me into it.”

Brock finds himself glancing over at James and Steve again. They’re still kissing and Brock bites his lip when James brings both his hands down hard against Steve’s ass. Steve jolts, his mouth opening in what’s obviously a gasp. James grins, and, within seconds, Steve does too, diving back in for another kiss.

Jack chuckles, his arm hooking around Brock’s neck and his finger rubs gently back and forth against Brock’s cheek. “They are a good looking pair, aren’t they?”

Brock rolls his eyes, leaning against Jack’s side. But it’s true, he can’t deny that to himself. “We’re better looking,” he mutters, and Jack vibrates against his side with a chuckle.

“You might be right,” he nods. “You make up for my shortcomings.”

Brock scoffs. “What shortcomings?” 

Jack chuckles again, softer this time, and Brock feels a firm hand cup his chin to tip his head up. Jack’s eyes gleam in the low light, but Brock doesn’t have much time to appreciate that when the man wastes no time in leaning closer and kissing his forehead. Brock’s eyes close on instinct, and he whimpers when Jack’s hand slides down his back, pulling him closer.

“Well, you’re nothing if not sweet, aren’t you?” Jack purrs. Brock shrugs one shoulder, nuzzling into Jack’s chest to hide his smile.

The night passes, and the music continues to get louder as the lights get lower. More people move onto the dancefloor, including, Brock notices, James and Steve. The two of them press together, Steve’s back against James’ chest, and in the flashes of strobe lights, Brock can see them whispering to each other and glancing in his and Jack’s direction.

“They’re staring at us,” he mutters to Jack.

“Actually I think they’re staring at you,” Jack replies. Brock frowns, looking up at Jack, who just shrugs. “Look for yourself.”

Brock purses his lips, but does glance at the couple again. This time, Steve is definitely staring at him, and James’ eyes raise as well, his lips pressed to Steve’s neck. One arm stays around Steve’s slim waist, and the other extends out just slightly, his finger crooking once, twice… 

Brock feels himself go red, immediately looking up at Jack, who’s all smiles.

“Go ahead if you want to,” he nods. “I don’t dance.”

Brock hesitates, glancing at James and Steve again. They smile at him, and Brock feels a shiver run down his spine, which Jack’s all too happy to encourage with a tickle against his hip. Brock lets out a long breath, glancing at Jack one last time before standing and making his way onto the dancefloor.

Steve and James grin at his as he gets closer, and the two separate, guiding Brock between them, Steve at his front, James at his back. 

“Hi,” Steve smiles at him.

“Hi,” Brock replies. He starts when a surprisingly solid arm wraps around his midsection, but then gentle hands take hold of his hips, two bodies press against his, and it’s easy to relax. Brock finds himself grinning, his arms going around Steve’s shoulders as the three of them start rocking to the beat of the music.

“Thought you were gonna wimp out on us,” James murmurs, his lips brushing Brock’s ear. Brock snorts, glancing over his shoulder.

“Wasn’t sure you really meant it.”

James smirks. “Stevie didn’t think we should interrupt your date, but I wanted to talk to you without Jack hovering.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not a date,” Brock mutters. “He just wanted to get me out of the house.” 

“Is that so?” James says, sharing a look with Steve. “Then there’s no harm, is there?” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Well maybe I’m old-fashioned, but when I see two people cuddled in a booth together, I assume it’s a date.”

James laughs, and Brock does too, though he can’t help glancing over at Jack. The man smiles back at him from the table, looking perfectly at ease, except for a darkness in his eyes. A danger that has Brock fixated for a moment too long.

“We don’t really have a dating relationship, I guess,” he finally says, turning his gaze back to Steve. Steve hums, nodding.

“Are you his submissive?”

Brock’s startled by the sudden question, and Steve grins, clearly reading his silence as a ‘yes’. 

“You think being a Dom and sub pair means you can’t go on dates?”

“N-no!” Brock answers quickly. That’s clearly not the case for Steve and James, anyway. “It’s just…we’re not like that…” He kicks himself for the hesitancy in his voice, but he’s right, isn’t he? He and Jack aren’t romantic…

Steve’s watching him closely, and there’s a glimmer in his eye that tells Brock he’s not quite convinced. But even that fades after a moment, and he nods. “If you say so.”

Brock huffs, but James is nosing just behind his ear, the same way Jack does, and he finds himself caught up in the thought that James might recognize Jack’s cologne. The taller man does chuckle after a moment, but makes no comment.

“So how did you two meet, really?” Steve asks, drawing Brock’s attention back. “I got the feeling Jack wasn’t giving out the whole story.”

Brock shrugs. “I mean…” he starts, hesitating briefly. Surely these two know what kind of stuff Jack’s into? He won’t be shocking them. “He left out the part where he convinced me to give him a blowjob to make up for trying to steal his bike.”

James laughs out loud and Steve giggles, quieter, but still very much audible.

“Now that sounds like the Jack I know,” James says. “Must’ve been one hell of a blowjob if he decided to keep you afterwards.”

Brock laughs along with Steve this time, shrugging again. He likes to think he’s pretty good. “Mostly I think he took pity on me when I told him I didn’t have anywhere to go.”

Steve nods, suddenly solemn, and Brock hears James sigh from behind him. “You on the run from somethin’?”

Brock shakes his head on instinct, but bites his lip, pausing before replying. “Just didn’t wanna get stuck where I was, I guess,” he mumbles. There’s a heavy quiet between the three of them, then Steve nods again.

“So you’re living with him?”

“Yeah, for about two months now” Brock replies, grateful for the change in subject. “He keeps buyin’ me all this nice stuff, too…”

“Let me guess, the shirt was his idea?” James chuckles. Brock’s skin heats up when he’s reminded of what Jack stuck him with for the night, but nods. He glances over at Jack again, sucking in a sharp breath when he finds green eyes still fixed on him, crawling up and down his body.

“He really likes you, you know,” James says. “Never seen him cuddle and kiss any of his other subs like that.”

Brock bites his lip, still watching Jack, who smirks at him, slow and deadly. It’s hard to deny that the idea of being special to Jack lights sparks in his stomach.

“You like him too, don’t you?” 

It’s Steve who asks, and Brock nods immediately. “Guess so,” he murmurs, tearing himself away from Jack’s gaze and sucking in a shaky breath.

“What is it?” Steve asks.

“Nothin’” Brock mumbles, smiling slightly. “I’m just probably gonna be in trouble for letting you guys touch me like this.”

“Nah, Jack loves this shit,” James mutters. “‘Sides, he sent you over to us, didn’t he?”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t still punish me for it,” Brock replies. Not that he’d complain. And given the look on Jack’s face, he’s probably already plotting exactly what he’s gonna do to Brock once they’re home. Brock smirks. Hell, they may not even make it that far…

Brock tips his head back against James’ shoulder, still smirking as grey eyes peer down at him. “So he likes to watch, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” James nods. “Why? You thinking a’ putting on a show for him?”

Brock shrugs, glancing at Steve, then back to James. “Well, if you guys don’t mind, that is?” He might as well really earn whatever Jack’s got in store for him. And after all, Jack has never said he couldn’t let other people touch him.

James and Steve share another look, smiles curling on their faces. “Sounds like a good time to me,” James replies, cupping Brock’s jaw in his hand. “Pretty baby.”

Brock shivers when James’ lips touch his, firm and demanding, a tongue prying his lips open within seconds to dive deep past them. Gentler lips caress his neck as well, dragging a purr out of him that James greedily swallows. Brock whimpers when he feels his hair being gripped, before his head is tugged back. James looks down at him with dark eyes, and Brock feels his body go lax. He knows that gaze, a Dom’s gaze. It pins him effortlessly.

“Kiss him,” James orders, his eyes shifting from Brock to Steve. Brock gasps when his hair is released, but he barely given a moment to breathe before Steve’s kissing him. It’s soft, almost shy, and so much sweeter than what Brock’s accustomed to, but James growls in approval, and both Brock and Steve moan as their tongue slide wet and eager against each other.

James’ hands are underneath Brock’s shirt, and Steve’s are running through his hair, and Brock doesn’t know who or where he should be touching with so many inviting options. He ends up with one arm curled around Steve’s neck, while his other hand reaches back to grip James’ shirt. James bites hard at Brock’s shoulder, and Brock winces, groaning as he bites down on Steve’s lip in return. Steve whimpers, his voice suddenly high and pitchy as he reaches past Brock to grip onto James as well. His hand ends up landing on top of Brock’s, and their fingers intertwine, tangling in the fabric of James’ shirt.

The music seems to rise as they both press in closer around Brock, who moans at the feeling of their hips rocking against him. Steve pulls away from their kiss, finally letting him gasp for air, and James takes his opportunity to pull his sub into a kiss of their own. Brock moans, nuzzling into Steve’s downy hair, and gasping when the blond’s nails rake against his chest. 

With no warning, James’ hand is in his hair again, tugging roughly. “Look at your Dom,” he orders, and Brock’s eyes immediately find Jack across the room. 

Brock’s amazed that his knees don’t hit the floor as soon as he connects with that green gaze. Jack’s very nearly glaring at him, his breathing obviously heavy even from across the room, his eyes predatory. James starts kissing up Brock’s neck and Brock lets his mouth fall open in a moan, basking in how Jack’s lip curls into a snarl. 

“Bet he’s gonna fuck you dirty tonight,” James whispers into Brock’s ear, and Brock moans again at the thought. If only…

That train of thought breaks off when Steve’s tongue skates across the hollow of his throat, making his eyes flutter shut. James’ hand drags through his hair, pulling his head back so his teeth gain access to Brock’s jaw. They’re both thrusting harder against him now, and Brock whines at the friction against his cock, and the heat from two bodies enveloping him. He bites his lip, willing his body not to react too fast. Jack will definitely punish him if he comes from this. 

And then, out of nowhere, there’s a hand gripping his arm, broad and firm and all too familiar. He puts up no fight as he dragged away from James and Steve, letting himself fall against Jack’s chest. He hadn’t realized he was panting, but Jack’s scent is on his tongue now, making his head spin as he looks up at the man’s face. A stern expression looks back at him, but Brock knows it’s a mask. A giggle bubbles up out of him as he presses himself against Jack’s body. For once, he’s the one doing the teasing.

“I think I’ll be taking him home now,” Jack says. Brock looks over his shoulder to see James nodding, with Steve curled against his front, in much the same way Brock’s leaning against Jack. 

“See ya ‘round,” James responds, winking at Brock. Brock smiles back before Jack takes hold of his arm again and begins leading him outside. He expects to be led to where Jack’s bike is parked, but of course, Jack has other plans for him.

He dragged behind the bar, his feet squelching in mud as his body is shoved against brick. Jack’s behind him, pressing him into the unforgiving wall, his shirt a pitiful barrier between his skin and the abrasive surface.

“Was that fun for you, kitten?” Jack purrs, pinning Brock’s wrists against the wall. “Playing the slut for anyone to see…”

“Just putting on a show for you, sir,” Brock replies, trying to sound as meek as possible. Not that it’s hard when his chest is being rubbed raw, and his neck is growing warm and damp with Jack’s breath.

“A show for me?” Jack repeats, chuckling darkly when Brock nods. “Didn’t look like it was for me. Looked like it was for you, trying to skirt around our rules.”

Brock whimpers, shivering when Jack’s teeth skate along the back of his neck, hot enough to turn the outside world frigid. He’s had his fun, but he’s Jack’s again, and Jack’s going to make sure he knows it.

“You’re just gunning for me to punish you,” Jack mutters. “Isn’t that right?”

Brock bites his lip. No lies. Breaking two rules in one night would really get him in trouble. “Y-yes, sir.”

Jack chuckles, and Brock feels the heavy sigh that follows like a slap in the face. “I suppose I should have expected as much from my pretty little masochist.”

Jack’s hands find Brock’s hips, pulling him back so he’s left bent over at the waist, with only his hands pressed against the wall. Those hands push his shirts up next, and Brock shivers again as the air curls around his bare stomach.

“Just a pretty slut,” Jack mutters. “Anybody can look, anybody can touch…” Brock squeals when Jack spanks him, his skin stinging even through his jeans. “But you know that you’re mine, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Brock say, crying out when Jack’s hand hits him hard yet again. “Y-yes, sir!”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” Brock groans. Jack does as well, his hand wrapping around Brock’s throat, pulling Brock back against him.

“Again, kitten.”

“I’m yours, sir,” Brock whispers, gasping when Jack’s hand tightens around his throat. Jack growls, Brock’s body resonating with the sound. Jack’s arm wraps around his waist, and he melts with a little moan, letting Jack hold him.

“I’ll deal with you at home,” Jack murmurs, the tip of his nose finding the soft spot just under Brock’s ear. “How does that sound, pet?”

“Good, sir,” Brock replies. Jack chuckles, running his teeth along Brock’s ear.

“And if I said I wanted to fuck you tonight, what would you say to that?” 

Brock freezes. Freezes and stops breathing because there’s no way Jack means it. Jack just laughs.

“I mean it, kitten,” he murmurs. “I think it’s about time I really enjoyed what’s mine.”

Brock moans softly, and nods. He wants to be Jack’s, wants Jack to have him in every way. “Yes, sir,” he whimpers. “Please.”

Jack purrs, his lips vibrating against Brock’s neck, bleeding heat through the younger man’s body. “Then let’s get you home.”

He tries to pull away, but Brock clings to him, whining desperately. He needs Jack. Needs his arms, his scent, his warmth. Jack understands, he always does, and scoops Brock into his arms without hesitation.

“All mine,” he whispers again. Brock moans, curling into his Jack. His Dom.

“All yours,” he murmurs in reply.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaAAAAAAAAaaaaaack!!! And I bring healthy offerings of smut!!

The ride home is excruciating. The wind is colder now, even through Jack’s leather jacket, and the vibration from the bike has Brock moaning pitifully. Jack just revels in it, revving the bike for no reason other than to torture Brock whenever they’re stopped. By the time they’re back home, Brock’s legs can barely hold him up.

“Inside, kitten.” The order drips from Jack’s lips like honey, and Brock bites his tongue as he scurries into the house. Jack’s close behind him, the sound of his footsteps ushering Brock forward.

Jack grabs him by the collar once they’re in the living room. “Stay,” he orders, and Brock instantly goes still, not even turning around as he listens to Jack move around the room. His heartbeat hums in his ears, quivering with anticipation.

“I want you to be ready for me once I decide to take you,” Jack says, coming around Brock to stand in front of him. He holds out the largest buttplug, smirking while Brock’s face burns. “Think you can handle getting this inside you on your own?”

“Yeah…” Brock mumbles. Jack’s been putting it inside him nearly every night for a week now, how hard can it be? He takes the plug from Jack, and corrects himself. “Y-yes, sir.” 

Somehow, the plug is heavier in his hand than it ever has been before. Jack hands him lube as well, equally heavy, and chuckles as he brushes his fingers down Brock’s cheek.

“Once you’ve got it in, get undressed and come to my bedroom,” he says. “And make sure you behave yourself.”

Brock nods, a tremor moving through him as Jack steps away and gestures to the stairs.

“Run along, kitten.”

Brock does, hurrying up the stairs and into his room. As soon as the door clicks shut, adrenaline begins to turn to anxiety. This is really happening; Jack finally wants to fuck him…

Brock drops the plug and lube on his bed, relinquishing the warmth of Jack’s jacket with shaky hands. His shirt comes off next, followed by shoes, jeans, and finally underwear. The bed dips underneath him as he crawls onto it, the cool sheets making him shiver as he lays down on his back. The lamp gets switched on, flooding yellow light across the pale ceiling as Brock reaches for the lube. He coats his fingers, one at a time, until they’re glistening in the light. Stalling.

His body fights him at first when he reaches down between his legs, tense and resistant, like it doesn’t recognize his own touch anymore. Like it knows he’s only for Jack. He sighs, rubbing his fingers back and forth across his hole, little tremors shuddering up his spine.

It’s so easy when it’s Jack’s hand, when Jack’s petting him and holding him, and telling him how good he is. He groans in frustration. Why did Jack have to send him in here to do it himself?!

Back and forth, little strokes. He forces himself to breathe slowly, just like Jack always tells him, until he’s finally worked up the courage to press his finger forward again. He gasps when the tip breaches him, the lube helping it slide one knuckle deep, and then, with some effort, two.

“Jack,” he whimpers, the single word lost in the silence of his room as he works his finger in and out, painfully slow. His mouth hangs open, panting now, Jack’s name slipping past his lips again.

His hand reaches out, landing on leather. His gaze follows his grip, which tightens on the jacket laying next to him. He moans softly at how smooth it is under his touch…how smooth it had been against his cheek when he’d curled up to Jack’s chest.

His finger slips out of him as he rolls onto his front, burying his face in the jacket, in Jack’s scent. Heat rolls through him when he tastes leather on his tongue, his lips parting in a moan as he pushes his hips into the air, kneeling and spreading himself open the way he will when Jack decides to take him.

_“Good boy.”_

Jack’s voice resonates as clear as if the man is leaning over him then and there. Brock groans, his hand moving between his legs again, two fingers pressing in easily now.

_“Such a good boy, aren’t you? Opening up for me…”_

Brock whines, his teeth clamping down on the jacket while his fingers move inside him. His hips buck forward, forcing them deeper, and he gasps when they press against his prostate, sending sparks through him.

_“Easy, kitten.”_

Brock whimpers, tensing his hips to keep them still while his fingers work. He can’t come, not like this, not when Jack told him to behave. 

He pushes deeper, all the way in, panting at the stretch inside him. His free hand gathers the jacket close against his chest, pressing it to his face. His cock twitches, hanging heavy and aching between his legs, and Brock keens against the desire to touch himself and relieve the pressure. All for Jack. Be good for Jack.

Another finger. Brock presses them deep, until the stretch starts to burn. He keens again, nuzzling the jacket. He shouldn’t be nervous. Jack never makes him hurt unless he needs it. Unless he loves it. 

In and out, in and out, until he’s got his three fingers all the way inside him. He hopes it’s enough as he reaches for the plug, getting it slick as well. His hands are smaller than Jack’s, his fingers slimmer and shorter…

The tip of the plug goes in easily, so smooth compared to his fingers. Brock moans at the rigid plastic pushing into him, spreading him open. He arches his back, sucking a breath in through his teeth when it slides even deeper, nearly all the way in.

He pumps it slowly, the leather jacket becoming slick as sweat beads on his face. Almost there, almost perfect.

One more careful push, and he gasps as the plug bottoms out inside him. There’s almost no taper at the base, so he’s still stretched open, his hole clenching around the hard plug while he pushes his face into the jacket one last time. 

He doesn’t bother with finding a towel, just wipes his hands on the sheets before pushing himself off the bed. The plug shifts, rubbing him, and for a moment he has to lean against the wall as he adjusts to the new position. 

The walk down the hall to Jack’s bedroom is mortifying. Brock starts to shiver as he wraps his arms around his bare torso, his gait awkward as he struggles around the plug and his hard cock.

On impulse, he knocks softly on the door to Jack’s bedroom, letting out a shaky breath as he waits for a response. 

“Come in.”

Jack’s smooth voice, thick with humor, crawls up Brock’s spine as he nudges the door open. Jack is sitting on the edge of the bed, and a smirk curls onto his face as he looks Brock up and down. 

“Look at you,” he purrs. Brock’s gaze falls to the floor. He could say the same to Jack, considering the guy’s shirtless. Turns out his tattoos reach onto his chest too, curling under his collarbones and over his pecs. Brock bites his lip at the thought of maybe getting his mouth on them…

“Now is not the time to be shy, kitten.”

Brock glances up to see Jack’s hand extended towards him. He starts to walk forward, but still can’t seem to hold eye contact, his gaze following a flicker in his peripheral vision. He snorts when he sees three candles lit on the each of the bedside tables.

“Thought I told you I didn’t need candles and shit,” he mumbles. Jack lauhgs, his warm hands taking hold of Brock’s hips.

“Humor me,” he murmurs, guiding Brock closer. His thumbs trace the hollows of Brock’s hipbones and Brock hesitates, his hands fluttering for a moment before he rests them on Jack’s shoulders. 

“Would you look at me, kitten?”

Brock’s eyes raise, his tongue running over his suddenly dry lips when Jack smiles at him, green eyes scanning his face.

“Are you nervous?”

Brock shakes his head at first, but Jack’s sigh makes him reconsider. After a moment, he nods, shrugging. “S’nothing…”

“I disagree,” Jack says, his hands gliding up Brock’s sides and then back to his hips while Brock shivers. “Tell me why.”

Brock shrugs again, rolling his eyes. “I dunno,” he mumbles. “S’just different, y’know?”

“I do,” Jack nods. “Are you still interested?”

Brock huffs. “Wouldn’t have bothered getting that thing in me if I wasn’t.”

“Fair enough,” Jack smirks, his hand moving up to cup Brock’s chin. “And you remember your safewords, right? We can stop at anytime.”

“Yes, sir,” Brock replies. Jack nods, his thumb passing over Brock’s lips as he searches his face. Brock purses his lips just enough so Jack will feel the pressure, and grins when Jack raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t you know better than to be a tease by now?”

Brock grins at the warning in Jack’s voice. “No,” he simpers. Jack shakes his head, letting out a long sigh. He pushes himself to his feet, his hand cupping the back of Brock’s neck now. Brock pulls his lip between his teeth, his eyes going wide as Jack presses in close, towering over him.

“Then I suppose we should start out with something that’s familiar to you,” Jack purrs. “After all, I do have to punish you for that little display this evening, don’t I?”

“Yes, sir,” Brock whispers. Jack smiles, his hand gliding through Brock’s hair, until his grip tightens with no warning.

“Get down on all fours.”

As soon as his hair is released, Brock’s knees hit the floor. Jack steps away, and Brock places his hands against the wood as well, spreading his legs and arching his back. Jack hums in approval, and Brock shivers at the sound, heat already beginning to build inside him yet again.

“I need to make sure you understand just how unacceptable your behavior was tonight,” he says. “I can’t have you running off and letting just anyone put their hands on you.”

“Yes, sir,” Brock repeats. Jack’s standing in front of him now, and he raises his head, wiggling his hips when he notices how Jack’s eyes are moving over his body. Jack scoffs, and Brock goes still when green eyes connect with his own.

“Being cute won’t work tonight, pet.”

Brock frowns, pouting as he lets out a soft whine. Jack’s having none of it, shaking his head as he walks out of Brock’s view again.

“You’ll take ten from my hand, then ten from my belt, to start,” he says, and Brock chokes out a soft noise of shock. Ten from his belt?! He whips his head around to see Jack smirking at him. “And if you break form, I’ll add more.”

Brock whimpers. Jack’s never made him take that many before. Hell, he almost never uses a belt to begin with…

He flinches when he hears Jack sigh, but glances up when the man kneels down next to him. “How does that sound, kitten?” he asks, cupping Brock’s face again. Brock shrugs, nuzzling into Jack’s palm.

“That’s a lot…” he finally murmurs. 

“It is a lot,” Jack agrees. When Brock looks up at him again, he finds a smile on Jack’s face. “But I think you can take it.”

Brock shrugs. He wants Jack to be right, but what if he isn’t? “What if I can’t?” he asks softly.

“Then all you have to do is say so, and I’ll stop when you’ve had enough,” Jack replies. Brock nods, but can’t force the frown off of his face. He doesn’t want to make Jack stop early, he doesn’t want to disappoint…

“I won’t be upset if it takes less time than I expect for this lesson to sink in.” 

Brock’s eyes slip closed when Jack presses a kiss to his hair, meeting Jack’s gaze once he leans back. “Ok,” he whispers. He trusts Jack after all.

“Good boy.”

Brock whines, nuzzling into Jack’s palm again before it’s gone. Jack’s hand glides down his back, pushing gently to coax Brock into a proper arch. 

“Count for me, kitten.”

Brock doesn’t have time to reply before Jack’s hand comes down hard against his ass. He gasps but holds his posture. “One.”

Two…three…four…the numbers flow easily from him, blurring together between gasps and moans. Jack’s as merciless as ever, and Brock can feel his skin burning and his limbs shaking soon enough. But he keeps his posture even so, until each hit starts sending sparks up his spine. Six…seven…eight…

His hands ball into fists when Jack hits harder, and he whimpers softly. Jack pets his back, hushing him as his hand slides up through Brock’s hair. Brock tips his head back into Jack’s grip, sighing when Jack tugs his hair and heat pools in his belly.

“How many, kitten?”

“Nine, sir,” Brock murmurs. Jack spanks him again, and Brock squeals this time. “Ten!” 

Jack chuckles softly, and Brock moans when he feels pressure against the plug inside him. Jack’s pressing against the base, rocking it back and forth.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, the words impossibly sweet, and Brock drinks them up, moaning softly when Jack pulls his hair yet again. He hears Jack shift, and whines plaintively at him when he feels Jack’s lips brush his ear. “Have you learned your lesson yet?”

Brock frowns, confused, until he sees the concern in Jack’s eyes. Jack’s giving him an out, an excuse to stop if he needs it. But he just shakes his head.

“No, sir,” he murmurs. “I need more.”

A slow smirk spreads across Jack’s face, and a chuckle flows from his lips, covering Brock with warmth. “Of course you do.”

He stands without warning, leaving Brock to falter as he regains his balance. He sucks in a gasp at the sound of Jack’s belt being pulled off in one fluid motion, shivering in anticipation.

_Crack_.

White hot ignites across his skin and Brock shrieks, his arms collapsing underneath him after just the first hit. Jack sighs, and Brock whimpers as he pushes himself back into position, even if he knows it’s too late.

“Bad kitten,” Jack chuckles. Brock whines, his eyes squeezing shut. He didn’t mean to be bad! He didn’t! 

_Crack_.

Brock shrieks again, but holds his body firm, hazarding a glance up when Jack hums in approval.

“Better,” he nods. Brock has no time to reply before the third strike comes down and his voice is lost to crying out once more. Tears spring into his eyes as the welts on his skin begin to throb, and soon wetness is rolling down his cheeks as he sobs with the fourth hit.

“Tell me what you did to deserve being punished.”

Brock’s chokes out another sob, his voice catching in his throat as he tries to force himself to speak. “I-I…”

_Crack_.

Brock’s arms crumple again, his legs trembling as his cheek presses against the cool wood floor. But the reprieve is short-lived, because Jack grabs his hair and drags him up again. He does offer respite, however, letting Brock lean against him as he kneels down. Brock presses his face into Jack’s warm, bare chest, whimpering between sobs.

“Tell me what you did, kitten.”

Brock whines, forcing himself to look up at Jack. Jack pets his hair, coaxing the words out of him with each gentle stroke.

“I-I let other people touch me,” Brock whispers. “I was a slut, but I’m supposed to be yours…”

“You are mine,” Jack says, and Brock hides his face in Jack’s chest again. He can hear the man’s heartbeat, thrumming hard and fast. “You’re mine, and you’ve been doing very, very well.”

“Thank you, sir,” Brock mumbles. Jack’s hand moves down his body, stopping when Brock flinches at having the fresh welts touched.

“You’ve taken five already,” he adds. “Is that enough for you to learn your lesson?”

Brock hesitates, biting his lip, but it doesn’t take long for his answer to come. “No, sir.” He wants more. He wants to float, to let Jack have every ounce of control. He needs it.

“Are you sure?” Jack asks. Brock nods immediately.

“Please, I need more.”

Brock feels a sigh escape from Jack’s chest, but all too suddenly the warmth from the man’s skin is gone, and Brock’s left to stumble again.

“Then get back in position.”

Brock’s body snaps into place with the order, and he forces out a long breath, bracing for the next hit.

Tears flow anew the moment the belt comes down on him again, dripping down his cheeks and neck and onto the floor beneath him, but he stays firm. Good. Good for Jack. 

Another hit, and he cries out. Yet another and he screams, his bruised skin lighting up once more with an impossible burn and ache.

He sobs when he stumbles with the next hit, ending up on his side. But within seconds he’s shoving himself back onto all fours. He won’t be bad, he won’t mess up, he knows how to behave…

A hand cups his chin, guiding up his head. Jack’s leaning over him, speaking to him, but the words flow meaninglessly past Brock, drowned out by the ringing in his ears and the haze in his mind. His mouth hangs open, but he can’t make a sound except to gasp pitifully for breath. Concern darkens Jack’s eyes, and Brock whines in frustration. He has to say something or Jack will stop. He has to get something out. One word…the word Jack’s taught him… 

“G-Green,” he whispers. Green like Jack’s eyes going wide and soft the moment he gets the word out. Green like safe and good and Jack’s. “Green,” he repeats, begging Jack to understand. He’s not done, he needs this. He needs Jack’s punishment, and his praise when it’s all over.

“Good boy.”

Those words come through clear and Brock feels a smile pull at his lips even through his sobbing. He’s good. Jack understands and he’s good. 

Another hit and then another. Brock sobs through them all, having long since lost count. More than ten because he faltered, but always enough. Jack knows. Jack will give him enough. Jack will take care of him even when he’s bad. 

Brock knows when the last hit comes down. It sings against his skin, in harmony with the pulse of his bruises. His body gives out, but Jack’s arms are around him, lifting him up. He notices his hands and arms are shaking when he tries and fails to cling to Jack, but it doesn’t matter anyway. Jack’s got him, he won’t fall.

Jack tries to lay him on his front, but Brock whimpers when that means Jack is too far away. Jack sighs, hushing him softly as he turns Brock onto his back, gently petting his arms and face when Brock reaches out for him again. The pain of having the bedsheets rub against his fresh welts and bruises doesn’t matter, all that matters is being able to ground himself in Jack.

“It’s alright,” Jack murmurs. “I’m right here.”

Brock sniffles weakly, his mouth hanging open as he pants for air. Jack’s panting too, Brock can feel the quick rise and fall of his chest under his hands. Jack’s hand cups his face, and Brock lets his eyes close, basking in the soft touches. 

“Can you hear me, kitten?”

Brock glances up again, nodding slowly. Jack smiles, his hand carding through Brock’s hair.

“Do you know how many that was?”

Brock shakes his head this time. He doesn’t care, all that matters is that Jack’s still smiling at him.

“Thirteen,” Jack says. “Ten from my hand and thirteen from my belt. You took every last one beautifully.”

Brock bites his lip because he knows it’s not true. He stumbled and couldn’t keep his posture…but Jack’s petting him, leaning closer to nuzzle his cheek and neck, and if Jack can forgive him for messing up, then Brock can do the same. 

“Can you turn over for me, kitten?” Jack asks. “I want to see my handiwork.”

Brock pouts but obediently, if gingerly, turns over when Jack leans away. Very suddenly, he becomes aware of the plug inside him again, and moans softly as it shifts with his own movement, pleasure melding with the pain on his skin for one delicious ache between his legs.

Jack strokes down his back, humming softly as his hand gets closer to Brock’s ass. 

“Sweet kitten,” he purrs. 

Brock whimpers when Jack rests his broad hand over the bruises, the heat from his palm amplifying the heat from the welts. Careful fingers trace each line carved into his skin, making them burn fresh and bright, and Brock’s vision blurs as he imagines Jack counting them. Thirteen. Thirteen and Brock took every last one. He smiles at the thought. He’s getting better, he can take anything from Jack.

“You’re gonna look so damn pretty with bruises all over your cute little ass,” Jack murmurs. Brock moans softly, relishing the idea that he’s going to feel Jack belt on his skin every time he sits down for the next few weeks.

Jack’s hand moves again, this time gripping the base of the plug, and Brock gasps at the pressure, arching his back on instinct. Jack’s dark chuckle is the only warning Brock gets before he feels Jack start pulling it out slowly. Brock grips tight to the pillow under his head, anticipation quivering in his belly, until it’s forced right out of him alongside a cry as Jack shoves the plug back in.

“Glad to see you’re nice and wet for me,” Jack murmurs. “But I’m not done having fun with you yet.”

Brock moans into his pillow, shifting to glance over his shoulder when he feels the bed dip underneath him. Jack’s leaning over him, heat radiating from his chest as he nips the back of Brock’s neck.

“On your back.”

Brock groans. Can’t Jack just pick a position? But he rolls onto his back nevertheless, moaning when the plug presses against his prostate. Jack smirks, of course, caressing Brock’s cheek now.

“I have a surprise for you,” he murmurs. “But I need you to be able to talk to me.”

Brock bites his lip, drawing in a deep breath that croaks out of his sore throat. “O-ok…” 

Jack smiles, his fingers teasing over Brock’s lips now. “What would you say if I told you I didn’t put those candles out just for mood lighting?”

Brock frowns, glancing over at the flickering lights on the bedside table, then back at Jack. “What?” is all he can manage to get out, and Jack chuckles.

“I was thinking I could cover this pretty body of yours with the wax,” he says. Brock’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out as he looks back and forth between the candles and Jack.

“Y-you…” he falters. “You’re gonna…b-burn me?”

“No,” Jack quickly amends, and Brock breathes out a sigh of relief as Jack cups his face. “It will be very warm, and might hurt a little, but it won’t leave any marks, I promise.”

Brock nods, glancing at the candles again, chewing the inside of his cheek. But when Jack’s lips press to his temple, all tension bleeds out of him in an instant.

“I can show you on myself first, if that would make you feel better?”

Brock peers up at Jack, searching green eyes for a sincerity he finds at once, and nods wordlessly. Jack smiles in reply, sitting up and reaching for one of the larger candles.

“These melt at a lower temperature, so they’ll only be warm,” he explains. Brock nods again, pushing himself up a little to watch as Jack holds out his forearm and lets a little of the wax fall onto his skin. Brock bites his lip, finding himself enraptured by the swell of Jack’s chest and the flex of his muscles as he waits for the wax to cool. “See? Nothing to it.”

“Ok,” Brock murmurs. Jack holds out his hand.

“Your turn.” Brock nods, resting his wrist in Jack’s outstretched hand. 

“Relax,” Jack says. Brock lets out a long breath, and Jack smiles as he tips the candle. Brock gasps when the warm wax hits his arm, and a little sound of pleasure slips past his lips as it pools and begins to cool.

“What do you think?”

“I-it’s nice,” Brock replies. Jack chuckles, reaching for one of the taller, thinner candles.

“These burn hotter, so it’ll hurt a little more,” Jack says. “Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” Brock nods, watching again as Jack tips the candle and a tiny drip of wax falls onto his skin. He flinches from this one when it hits, sharp, like slipping up with his pocket knife. Almost immediately, Jack’s wiping the drop away.

“Too much?”

“N-no!” Brock stutters. Jack raises an eyebrow. “I mean it, it just surprised me…”

“Would you like to try again?”

Brock nods with no hesitation, and this time when the wax drips onto him, he only lets out a little squeak, much to his embarrassment. 

“Ok?” Jack asks.

“Ok,” Brock nods.

Jack smiles, setting the candle back down, and carefully peeling the cooled wax off Brock’s arm, then his own. “Lay down, kitten.”

Brock settles himself against the mattress, his breath catching in his throat when Jack leans over him and grabs his wrists. Jack guides his hands up, until Brock feels his palms touch the bars in the headboard, reflexively taking hold. 

“Keep your hands there,” Jack orders, and Brock’s grip tightens automatically. Jack smirks at him, reaching for one of the larger candles. “We’ll start you off easy, how does that sound?”

“Good…sir,” Brock answers, eyeing the candle. Jack tips it slowly, teasing him yet again, until he finally allows a few drips of wax to hit Brock’s belly. Brock tenses up at first but easily relaxes when the shivers of warmth start to seep through him. More drops, growing into thin streams curling up to his chest. Brock moans as the wax drips down his sides and pools around his navel, sending more shudders through him, his cock beginning to throb yet again.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Brock nods at once, a breathy sound escaping him when Jack’s hand takes hold of his thigh, guiding his leg up until it’s bent at the knee. Green eyes fix on Brock as Jack hand strokes up and down his leg, fingertips teasing just behind his knee and along the arch of his foot, until Brock whimpers again.

He’s rewarded with wax cascading down the inside of his thigh, and a long moan drags out of him as the warm liquid finds the sensitive dip where his leg meets his groin. Jack hums softly, his gaze dark and heavy when Brock’s eyes flutter open again.

“Too damn pretty, you know that?” Jack says. Brock pouts, shoving Jack’s side with his knee. Jack just laughs, stroking Brock’s leg again. “Stay still, kitten.”

Brock stubbornly continues to frown, until Jack grasps his other leg, guiding it up until it’s pressed against Brock’s chest, leaning to grab another one of the larger candles. Brock whines at the stretch in his hip, but doesn’t fight it, his eyes slipping closed as Jack starts dripping wax on him again.

He’s meticulous about it this time. Brock’s breathing picks up as Jack moves the candle back and forth, painting tiny, warm lines on the back of his thigh. Some of it starts dripping lower, tickling the bruises left by Jack’s belt and Jack’s grip tightens on his knee when he twitches and moans.

“Stay still,” Jack orders again, and Brock can only groan when a sudden flood of wax coats the back of his thigh, falling onto his belly and chest as well. Jack drops his leg without warning, and Brock whines as the wax slips between his legs, leaving cool trails now as it hardens.

“Good boy,” Jack purrs. Brock feels his lower lip tremble as the praise washes over him. Jack leans over him again, his broad chest and winding tattoos dappled with candlelight, his eyes glinting as he moves closer and closer…

Brock can’t help it. He forgets himself, has a moment of weakness, and reaches for his Dom, only to cry out when his hands are pushed back against the bed almost instantly.

“I thought I told you to stay still?”

Brock chokes out another little cry, his lip quivering again as he looks up at Jack. “M’sorry,” he whimpers, and Jack sighs, petting one hand down Brock’s cheek.

“Put your hands back, kitten,” he murmurs. “I forgive you.”

Brock nods, quickly taking hold of the headboard again. Jack’s fingers trail from his cheek down to his chest, carefully wedging underneath one of the solidified puddles of wax and dragging it up. Cool air flows over Brock’s skin, and, though he notices a little redness at first when he glances down, within seconds, there’s no mark on his skin. 

“What are you doing?” he asks softly. Surely Jack’s not finished yet… 

Jack, of course, chuckles, fixing Brock with amused eyes. “Making sure I have a fresh canvas before I start again,” he replies. “Seems like you would enjoy something a little more intense.”

Brock bites his lip, remembering the other candles, the hotter ones that Jack’s ignored for now. He nods and settles himself, flexing his grip on the headboard as Jack carefully removes the rest of the wax. He takes his time about it, methodically pulling off each piece and smoothing his hand over each newly uncovered spot until the redness fades from it. Brock finds himself shuddering with each caress, watching Jack’s face change into an expression Brock can’t quite recall ever seeing on anyone. Something gentle, something soft that still manages to weigh so heavily on Brock’s chest that soon he’s fighting for every breath.

He can see his own wide eyes reflected in Jack’s blown pupils when the man finally looks at him again, after having removed every stray bit of wax from Brock’s body.

“I did get lucky with you, didn’t I?” Jack murmurs. Brock’s pretty sure he stops breathing altogether when Jack moves closer once again. “Perfect little body with a pretty little face to match…”

Brock wants to whine about being called ‘little’, wants to complain about Jack teasing him, but finds he can’t do anything but open his mouth for a little gasp when Jack cups his cheek, his thumb brushing over Brock’s lips. Jack smirks at him, nudging closer still, and Brock’s finds his arms trembling against the desire to reach out once he can feel Jack’s breath on his face. Jack holds him there, under that spell, not allowed to move and unable to breathe, until he finally breaks into a grin.

“Now let’s have a little more fun, shall we?”

Brock can hear his heartbeat in his ears when Jack picks up one of the taller candles, his gaze staying fixed on it as Jack slowly begins to tip it down, wax collecting in a tiny drop just below the flame.

“Look at me.”

Brock’s eyes meet Jack’s just as the first drop of wax hits the center of his chest. A pinprick that makes him gasp, transfixed by Jack’s gaze. Another drop, followed by another and another, each one as sharp as the last, carving a perfectly straight trail down the center of his body while the green of Jack’s eyes keeps him pinned. He whines when Jack lowers the candle, an especially warm drop of wax splashing just above where his cock is curved up to press against his belly, harsh enough to make his whole body convulse. Jack raises an eyebrow at him, but Brock’s quick to nod, and with that permission, Jack smirks.

He knows every spot to hit by now. The curves where Brock’s hipbones jut out, the inside of his upper thigh, around his navel and underneath where his ribs show with every gasping breath. Brock whines and moans, his toes curling into the sheets and his back arching up, but every time he has the nerve to close his eyes or toss his head, Jack’s order is always the same: look at me.

And Brock always does, and each time he wonders how he ever looked away. Jack’s lips are parted, just like Brock’s own, and when he glances down, swell of Jack’s cock, obvious even through his jeans, has him moaning. Fuck, he’d love to get Jack in his mouth, have him push down his throat…

No, not tonight. He moans again when Jack’s hand strokes up his side, fingers pinching and tugging on his nipple. Tonight he gets something more.

“I still think you should get these pierced,” Jack murmurs, pinching Brock’s nipple again and twisting this time for emphasis. Brock cries out, his eyes squeezing shut, unable to reply. Jack doesn’t seem to care. “I’d love having a little bar or ring that’s easy to pull on.”

He releases Brock’s nipple, and Brock whines softly as blood rushes back into his abused skin, only to cry out again seconds later when a scalding drip of wax comes dangerously close to that same spot. Dangerously, and purposefully, Brock realizes when Jack chuckles softly.

“You do like a little pain there, don’t you, kitten?” Jack says, and Brock nods. It’s impossible to deny how his cock twitches and throbs which each drop. “Bet I could make you come from it, if I wanted too.”

Brock moans, his cock aching at the thought. He has no doubt that Jack could. Jack could make him come from damn near anything. All he has to do is say the word. 

“Bet you’d like to come now…” Jack purrs, fingers wandering down Brock’s chest to skim the length of his cock. Brock’s hips jolt up instantly, and Jack laughs. “Answer me.”

“Yes, sir,” Brock squeaks out, watching as Jack’s finger drags lazily along his cock. Up and down, barely any pressure, but Brock groans all the same, hiding his face in his arm and whimpering when Jack thumb rubs just under the head.

Another splash of wax brings him back, and he cries out, but Jack’s ministrations are still mercilessly slow. Brock’s cries turn to weak sobs as Jack makes little circles with the candle, a perfect ring around his nipple, and then another inside the first, just as his fingers make little circles around the head of Brock’s cock. Brock writhes, unable to stop himself, caught between pressing up into Jack’s hand, and flinching from the wax as it gets closer and closer to the peak of his nipple. When the final drop finally comes, coating the sensitive nub with burning heat, he can’t help but squeal in surprise, the sound turning to a cry when Jack’s hand clamps down on the base of his cock.

“Don’t you dare come.”

Brock feels tears on his face yet again, sobs shuddering out of him as he looks up at Jack, shaking his head. He wouldn’t! He wouldn’t! Jack doesn’t need to—

He gasps when Jack releases his cock and moves closer, hovering over him. “What is it, kitten?”

Brock shakes his head again, pitiful little sobs catching in his throat. He gasps for the air to get the words out, his lungs suddenly opening when Jack pets his cheek.

“I won’t,” he says. “Not without your permission…I won’t. You don’t have to make me…”

He trails off, but Jack nods in understanding, chuckling as he presses his lips to Brock’s forehead. Brock melts under the soft touch, all tension fading away.

“Of course,” he murmurs. “Forgive me for not trusting what a good sub you are.”

Another sob, this time one of relief, rushes past Brock’s lips as warmth curls in his chest. He’s good, Jack knows he’s good… When Jack’s hand cups his cheek, he can’t resist nuzzling into his palm, his lips parting for a tiny kiss, one little taste of his Dom’s skin.

Jack purrs, the sound deep in his chest, and Brock moans when Jack’s thumb presses past his lips, rubbing against his tongue. It’s pure instinct to close his lips and suck softly, his eyes fluttering shut as he loses himself in the familiar sensation of having his mouth filled by Jack.

“Would you indulge me once more, kitten?”

Brock’s eyes open at the sound of Jack’s voice, and when he sees Jack’s finger tap the candle still in his hand, he nods at once, mewling when the candle begins to tip towards him.

Wax hits his belly, and Jack isn’t taking his time anymore. Brock whines as the candle keeps tipping, wax falling faster and hotter, until he’s squealing, the sound muffled Jack’s thumb, still firmly pressed against his tongue.

Wax travels up, a steady, scalding flow now, and Brock screams when it covers his exposed nipple with no buildup, no time to prepare himself. Tears flow down his cheeks, but he can’t bring himself to look away from Jack, who’s fixated on his face yet again. And he knows that, even if he could catch his breath, he’d never even consider telling Jack to stop.

But stop he does, soon enough. Brock hears a vague echo of the candle being set down, and the smooth resonance of Jack’s voice floating around him, but all he can manage to do is close his lips around Jack’s thumb again, only to whine softly when it’s pulled away from him. And yet, Jack’s smiling at him, so maybe it doesn’t really matter after all.

He feels a gentle tug against his skin, wax being removed, and moans as soft touches are quick to cover his heated skin. Jack brushes the hardened droplets away as he removes them, sweeping them off the bed with broad strokes; Brock giggles—actually giggles—at the uncharacteristic carelessness of the action.

Jack smiles at him for that too, and it’s reward enough to have Brock glowing.

Jack’s gentle when he peels the wax back from Brock’s nipples, making Brock keen sweetly when he soothes them afterward with open-mouthed kisses and little tugs with his teeth. This time, Jack’s voice comes through clear to Brock when he speaks.

“Is my pretty pet enjoying his kisses?”

Brock nods, another giggle bubbling out of him as he reaches down towards Jack.

He realizes too late that he hadn’t been given permission to move.

Jack slaps his thigh. Not hard, but enough to make him gasp, his hand flying back into place on the headboard. Jack nods slowly, sighing.

“At least you know what you did wrong,” he murmurs, though his apparent disapproval is short-lived, as only seconds pass before he’s stroking Brock’s body again. “You have to behave if you want treats.”

Brock nods, tightening his grip, and gasping when those so-called treats are quick to arrive. Jack’s lips press against his chest, parting for his tongue to lave a languid path up to Brock’s nipple, where he latches on and tugs again until Brock moans. More kisses fall along Brock’s belly; Jack nuzzles where he’s soft and nips where his skin stretches taut over fine bones. He skips over Brock’s cock entirely, choosing instead to skate his tongue up Brock’s thigh, and chuckles when Brock whimpers. 

“So impatient,” he purrs, making his way up Brock’s body once again until their faces are level. Brock groans as Jack presses between his legs, and bucks up against him, in spite of how denim drags painfully against his cock. Jack smirks at him, shaking his head. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

Brock can’t even bring himself to pout as Jack’s lips brush his forehead and his cheeks, sending sparks through him. His hands tremble as he resists the urge to pull Jack closer, letting out a shaky breath when Jack nudges just under his ear.

“Do you want me to fuck you, kitten?”

Brock’s so quick to nod he ends up bumping his head against Jack’s, but Jack just laughs, kissing his forehead again.

“Understood,” he chuckles, brushing his finger over Brock’s lips. “But how about a kiss for that pretty mouth before I do?”

Brock’s nod is more restrained this time, and Jack smirks as he leans in. Brock presses up, wanting to close the distance, but finds Jack just out of his reach.

“Patience, kitten.”

Brock can’t help but whine, though he does force himself to lay back against the bed. Jack’s eyes meet his, green enveloping him as Jack moves steadily closer. Brock whimpers when their noses brush, and parts his lips when he feels Jack’s breath against them, but stays perfectly still, even when Jack nips at his lip.

“Good boy.”

Brock’s moan is swallowed by Jack’s kiss as their lips finally come together, Brock’s eyes slipping closed. Jack’s arm moves under him, pressing him up until all he can feel is the heat of Jack’s skin and the swell of his cock between their legs. Brock sighs into Jack’s mouth when a hot tongue slides between his lips, his body starting to tremble as Jack dives deep into his mouth, devouring him.

The only cold left in his body is in the palms of his hands, frozen to the bars of the headboard, aching to touch in return. Jack invites Brock’s tongue into his mouth as well, and Brock’s eyes squeeze tighter to trap the tears that threaten from the need to hold onto Jack, to ground himself.

Jack’s hand strokes down his back, and Brock’s moan breaks off into a sob that’s all too audible when Jack suddenly leans away, frowning as he searches Brock’s face.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” he asks softly. Brock shakes his head, unable to get the words out at first. Jack just strokes his waist, patient until Brock finds his voice again.

“I-I wanna touch you too,” he finally whispers, and Jack nods, a broad smile spreading on his face.

“You’re welcome to do so, my kitten.”

Somehow, Brock can’t bring himself to react immediately, his body suddenly slow to respond to his own commands. But eventually his hands release the headboard, coming to rest on Jack’s shoulders, then moving down over his chest, trailing through the whorls of his tattoos. Jack indulges him, humming when Brock lingers over where the tattoo fans off into sharp points under his collarbone; a row of little daggers. 

Whether he pulls Jack in, or Jack closes the distance himself, he can’t really say; all he knows is, in a flash, Jack’s lips are on his, drowning him with a flood of heat so the only thing he can do is cling for dear life. Jack’s arms are around him again, and Brock gasps when he suddenly feels himself being lifted, cradled to Jack’s chest as the man leans back on his heels. Brock pants for breath as the kiss ends, burying his face in Jack’s shoulder while Jack pets his back. A moment of quiet settles, a moment to breathe and then reignite.

“Still up for more, kitten?” Jack asks.

“Uh-huh,” Brock nods, still a little breathless. No way he’s saying no now. Jack’s hand cups the back of his head, guiding him back until he meets Jack’s gaze.

“I want you to lay on your front,” he says. “I think we’ll have an easier time that way.”

“Ok,” Brock murmurs. Out of nowhere, nervousness begins to prick in his stomach again. It’s real. It’s happening now. Jack must see that in his face, because he gives Brock one more kiss, this one falling softly against his cheek 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

Brock bites his lip, but forces himself to nod, relinquishing his hold on Jack as he lays down. He groans as he starts to shift onto his front, the soreness in his body turning to heat as it shudders through him, centering in his cock. 

Jack moves too, and Brock glances back just in time to see him unzip his jeans and push them down. His mouth waters at the sight of Jack’s cock, half of him wondering if Jack will ever manage to fit inside him, the other half so desperate to find out. 

Jack sees him staring and chuckles as he crawls back onto the bed, dropping a bottle of lube next to Brock. “All for you,” he purrs, making Brock shiver. “Just be patient.”

Brock wants to whine that he’s been patient long enough, but when Jack moves over him and takes hold of the plug, all words fail him. Jack pulls the thing out slowly, until Brock’s whimpering into his pillow, pushing his hips up towards Jack. When the thing finally slips out, Brock groans as his hole clenches around air.

“Look at you,” Jack hums. “You did such a good job getting yourself open for me.” 

Brock moans at the praise, and bites his lip when he hears the bottle of lube pop open. Moments later, Jack presses slick fingers into him and Brock chokes on his own breath. From the stretch, it’s got to be three fingers, and Jack doesn’t hesitate to push deep, forcing a cry out of Brock when he effortlessly finds his prostate.

“Sweet little thing,” Jack purrs, pumping his fingers a few times, just for good measure. Brock trembles as Jack’s fingers slip out of him and the wet sound of Jack stroking his cock reaches his ears. “I hope you know I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

“Please,” Brock whimpers. Jack laughs, and Brock gasps when the tip of Jack’s cock presses against his hole. He tries to push back, but Jack holds him in place, pressing against his fresh bruises until he cries out.

“Please, what?” Jack murmurs. Brock whines, blood rushing into his cheeks until they burn. Of course Jack’s gonna make him beg… He tries to hide his face in the pillow, but Jack’s having none of it and grabs his hair to drag him up. “What do you want, kitten?”

“W-want you t’fuck me…” Brock mumbles, crying when Jack tugs his hair again.

“Sorry, kitten, didn’t quite catch that?”

“Want you to fuck me,” Brock says, louder this time. Jack just laughs, grinding himself against Brock’s tender, open hole.

“Well then you better ask nicely for it.” Brock whines softly, but Jack just pulls his hair again. “Come on, kitten, I know you know how.”

Brock bites his lip to keep from whining again, glancing over his shoulder so he can see Jack. Jack’s almost as flushed as Brock knows he himself must be, pink creeping onto the tops of his cheeks and down the center of his chest. But his eyes are as stoic and careful as ever, pinning Brock hopelessly.

“Please fuck me, sir,” he whispers. Jack’s smile grows to a dangerous smirk but he releases Brock’s hair with gentle strokes.

“As you wish.”

He shifts his hips forward, and his cock presses against Brock’s entrance. Brock moans, willing his body to relax as he tries to press back, until he feels the tip begin to breach him. His moan turns to a cry almost at once, the stretch shooting through him like electricity.

“Shh,” Jack murmurs, stroking Brock’s back. “I know, just relax.”

Brock tries to nod, forcing out a long breath and gasping when the head of Jack’s cock slips inside him. Jack groans, his grip tightening on Brock for just a moment before Brock hears him let out a steadying breath of his own.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Doing so damn good for me, kitten, just like that.”

Brock nods, his hands balling into fists when Jack pushes forward again, the lube helping him slide deeper into Brock’s tense body. Brock whimpers and tries to hide his face in the pillow, but it’s not long before he feels Jack’s hand in his hair again.

“Don’t hide from me.” 

Even in Jack’s soft voice, the tone of an order is still there, and Brock turns to look at him. Jack’s eyes are gentle, concern passing through them again. Brock preens under that gaze. Jack would never hurt him, never take too much, too fast.

“Green,” he whispers. Jack nods at once, brushing a kiss against Brock’s forehead. He presses Brock’s hips down, and Brock lets himself be settled into the bed with Jack’s weight on top of him, moaning when Jack’s cock slips a little deeper.

“I need you to relax for me,” Jack murmurs, petting Brock’s arm.

“S’hard…” Brock mumbles. No matter how much he may want it, Jack’s bigger than any plug…

“I know,” Jack replies. “Just breathe, like I always tell you. We’ll go nice and slow, I promise.”

“Ok,” Brock murmurs. Jack’s nose brushes along the shell of his ear, and Brock lets his eyes close, sighing softly when Jack strokes his arm again.

“Good boy,” Jack purrs. Brock gasps when he feels Jack pulling out, the sound quickly turning into a moan when he presses in again. Not deep, no further than he’d been before, just enough. Jack groans as well, and Brock finds himself grinning at the sound. 

Jack’s thrusts are slow and shallow, but Brock keens with each one, his hands tugging weakly at the bedsheets while moans flow effortlessly from him. Jack’s mouth hovers over the back of his neck, so Brock can hear every catch in the man’s breath. Each one has him glowing. He’s causing that, he’s why Jack feels good.

He squeaks when Jack pushes deeper, but his body opens up, and Brock finds himself moaning at the pressure in his belly and against his prostate. Jack’s so deep inside him, and yet he can’t stop himself from pressing back for more when he feels Jack go still again.

“Easy,” Jack orders, his hand digging into Brock hip again. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, that’s only halfway.”

“H-Half?!” Brock squeaks. Jack laughs, the vibration moving through his body and into Brock, who trembles with it. No way that’s only half, it already feels like he might shatter at any moment…

“Told you, I’m gonna ruin you,” Jack purrs, and for the first time Brock believes he might be right. Jack starts to move again, still shallow and slow, working Brock open little by little, just like he’s always done. Brock’s voice breaks into something he barely recognizes, high and thready, squeaking with every thrust while his hips shake in Jack’s hold. So full…and yet it isn’t enough.

“Harder…” he mewls. 

“Harder?” Jack repeats, his smirk audible in his voice. “You sure you can take it?”

“Yes,” Brock whimpers. “Please, ye—”

His plea breaks of with a shout when Jack’s cock shoves into him and he’s got no hope of getting another word out as Jack sets a new pace. His voice breaks yet again, and this time squealing whines pour out of him as Jack fills him over and over. His body aches with the stretch and pressure, and yet it feels so good. So good that he can’t imagine ever wanting it to stop.

“Listen to you,” Jack chuckles, his voice somehow still level. His holds Brock’s hair, keeping his head up so his voice has no chance at being muffled. “You’re lucky I don’t have neighbors, otherwise I’d have to gag that pretty mouth.”

Brock knows he can’t respond, and doesn’t even try, just lets himself squeal and shriek for Jack with every thrust, raw with the knowledge that Jack’s still, somehow, holding back.

Jack pulls his hips up off the bed and Brock cries out when Jack’s thrusts are suddenly deeper, pressing against his prostate so he sees stars flashing before his eyes. Precum smears on his skin each time his cock slaps against his belly with the force of Jack’s thrusts, and he can feel light sparking in every part of him, rushing towards the center of his body.

“Think you can handle a little more?” Jack asks, and Brock chokes out a pitiful sound. God, he wants it, he wants everything Jack can give him. But when Jack pushes deeper, those sparks inside him burn hotter, his cock pulsing and twitching as his arms and legs go numb with tremors.

“W-wait!” he whimpers, whining when Jack instantly goes still, his hands tender as they brush Brock’s hair away from his face. “I-I…”

“What is it?” Jack murmurs. Brock groans, his hands tugging at the sheets, his whole body quivering with the frustration of a halted release.

“I-I’m gonna come,” he whispers, half-formed thoughts tumbling out of him. “I c-can’t…if you keep…I’m gonna—”

“Oh really?” Jack purrs, and Brock chokes on a little sob at the danger in Jack’s voice. “But I thought you were my good pet who would only come when he was told to?”

Another sob. Brock shakes his head weakly. “I can’t, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

Brock moans as the order rings through him, dissolving into more cries and gasps as Jack begins to press forward again. His hands splay open against the bed and his toes curl with such force that he ends up balanced on his knees, but Jack’s hand keeps him in place, and his body doesn’t fight the penetration threatening to split him in half.

His voice fails him when Jack’s hips finally press against his own, and his hand flies down to grab the base of his cock. He can’t come, not like this, not when Jack told him no. 

Jack lets out a long groan, and Brock cries out when he braces himself against the bed and slides just that much further inside. “Fuck…” Jack groans. “So damn tight…”

Brock whimpers softly when Jack’s hand slips underneath him, pressing against the bulge Jack’s cock is making in his belly.

“Feel that?” Jack purrs. “So damn little I’m gonna have to ruin that flat stomach of yours too.”

Brock moans. How could he not feel it? Seems like he’ll burst at any second… But fuck he just wants more. Wants to come…to make Jack come inside him… Jack’s hand presses against his belly and he sobs, clamping his hand harder around his cock when his whole body jolts.

“Please…” he whimpers. “Please, please, please—”

“Please, what?”

Brock groans at the singsong tease in Jack’s voice, shaking his head weakly. But Jack just waits, keeping Brock on edge with nowhere to go until he breaks.

“Please let me come, sir,” he begs. “Please, I c-can’t—”

He doesn’t have to finish, because Jack’s already reaching down and nudging his hand away from his cock. Brock almost comes then and there from the sudden release of pressure, but somehow holds back as Jack presses his hand into the bed, their fingers lacing together.

“Come whenever you need to,” Jack replies. “You’ve got my permission.”

Brock sobs in relief, a cry dragging out of him as Jack pulls out, as slow as he did the first time. He trembles with only the tip of Jack’s cock inside him, and it’s the last reprieve he gets.

Jack slams back into him and Brock screams, fire rushing through him as he comes instantly. Wet hits his chest, his chin, his cheek and he screams over and over with every thrust. He tastes his own bitterness on his tongue, mixing with the salt of the tears rolling down his face, but he doesn’t care. He can’t. He can’t even think with the slap of Jack’s skin against his own, Jack’s cock filling him, Jack’s hand grasping his own as he burned alive by a flame that just won’t stop…

He hits the bed and sobs when he finds himself empty for a moment too long, but it’s short lived, because Jack’s inside him again. His legs are over Jack’s shoulder now as he looks up into green eyes, pinned on his back. His throat aches, his voice failing it tries to cry out with thrust after thrust still wracking through him.

“Look at that face,” Jack groans. Brock’s mouth opens the moment Jack’s fingers pass over his mouth, and gags wetly when those same fingers press past his tongue, more tears flowing down his face. “So damn pretty when you cry for me.”

Brock wants to nod, wants to suck Jack’s fingers and hold onto Jack, but his body won’t move for him anymore. He’s left on his back, his arms useless at his sides, his mouth open and dripping, his eyes bleary with wetness. All he can do is moan as Jack takes him, a pulse of light igniting in his core with every thrust. His own voice is far away from him now, moans and whines and cries quivering in a fog while his gaze narrows to Jack, only Jack, whose groans electrify every nerve until his whole body sings. 

Jack’s hand presses over his neck, and Brock feels his body convulse again, more wetness on his belly, another cry from his throat, but his gaze doesn’t falter once. Jack’s brow is furrowed now, strands of his hair falling over his forehead, his teeth bared by the curl of his lip while his thrusts get faster, rougher… Brock just takes them, open for anything his Jack will give.

He gasps when Jack comes, a deep groan ripping from that broad chest, heat and slick rushing to fill Brock’s core. Jack grunts, moving Brock’s legs off his shoulder so he can collapse against Brock, who moans softly under the weight of Jack’s body. 

Silence lingers as their breathing evens out. Brock watches candlelight flicker dreamily on the ceiling, arcs of gold surrounding them.His arms suddenly find the will to wrap around Jack, and his eyes close when Jack’s lips press against his neck. More silence, gentle breathing, and a steady heartbeat against his chest. Brock’s hands start to tremble as they grip tighter to Jack, dreading the moment when the spell will finally break.

Jack shifts, and Brock cries out softly the second he feels a space emerge between their bodies, but Jack’s quick to hush him with tender touches and soft words.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, petting his hand along Brock’s cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Brock still can’t help but whine softly when Jack leans away from him and towards the bedside table, pulling out a pack of those damn baby wipes he’s got in every room. Brock lays still as a cool cloth wipes tears from his face and come from his chest, but flinches and whines when Jack reaches between his legs where he’s still sensitive.

“Hush,” Jack orders, wrapping the wipe around Brock’s cock and dragging up. Brock cries out when another orgasm shudders through him, his body clamping down around Jack, who groans softly. “Sweet kitten,” he purrs, and Brock whines, hiding his face behind his hands.

Jack just laughs again, wiping down Brock’s thighs before carefully pulling back. Brock whimpers, reaching out for him, and Jack presses a kiss to the palm of Brock’s hand as he sits back on his heels.

“It’s ok,” he murmurs. “I’m still right here.”

Brock shakes his head. Jack’s not inside him anymore, it’s not the same… Jack sighs, resting over him and kissing his forehead. 

“This was just the first time, not the last,” he says, smiling while Brock’s fingers run through his hair. “But for right now you need to rest.”

Brock huffs, but doesn’t bother arguing, just lets his petulance be heard as a drawn out moan when Jack’s hand slips between his legs and rubs over his abused hole.

“I really should get you in a shower and clean you up properly,” Jack sighs. Brock whines and shakes his head. No way he’s moving. Jack grins. “Should probably take another look at those bruises too, and change the sheets…”

Brock’s whine is more insistent this time, and he pushes half-heartedly at Jack’s shoulder. Jack just chuckles, nuzzling a kiss into Brock’s hair. 

“I know, I’m only teasing,” he says. “I won’t make you move.”

Brock nods, parting his lips for words that won’t come. He should thank Jack…he should do so much, but nothing comes out except a whimper. A poor excuse for all the things he should be saying…

But Jack just shakes his head, resting his finger over Brock’s lips. “Won’t make you talk either. I know that was intense,” he says. “But would you do me a favor and nod if you’re ok?”

Brock nods at once, and Jack smiles.

“Good,” he murmurs. Brock’s eyes flutter shut for a moment when Jack’s finger strokes his cheek, sleepiness beginning to wash over him. “And did my kitten enjoy himself?”

Brock nods again, flushing pink when Jack smirks at him. 

“Very good,” Jack chuckles. Brock bites his lip as he gazes up at Jack, whose green eyes are full of warmth as they pass over him.

“D-Did…” he tries, and Jack raises an eyebrow, patient as Brock tries to string the words together. “Did you—”

“Did I enjoy myself?” Jack finishes for him, and Brock blushes again as he nods. Jack rests on his side, sliding his arm underneath Brock to pull him closer. “Of course I did,” he says. “You’ve made me very happy, kitten, and I’m very impressed with you.”

Brock’s lip begins to quiver the moment the words reach his ears, and as they burrow deeper inside him, taking root in his chest, he feels his whole body start to shake and he doesn’t know why. A whimper slips out of him, despite how he tries to bury his face in Jack’s chest, and Jack’s hand petting him gently does nothing to stop the tremors running through him.

“You’re always perfect for me, kitten, you should know that by now.”

Heat swells in Brock’s chest, making his breath catch, his vision getting hazy again when wetness clings to his eyelashes. He wants to shove Jack, whine at him for saying shit like that, but Jack’s arms tighten around him, and he can only let out a little sob, scrubbing at his eyes before those mutinous tears can ruin his face again.

“S-sorry…” he sniffles, hiding his face in Jack’s chest. Jack sighs, and when Brock glances up, he sees him shaking his head.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says. Brock just shrugs, wanting arguing that it’s stupid, that he shouldn’t be crying… 

But silence falls again, only punctuated by the rustle of fabric when Jack pulls the blankets over them, and Brock doesn’t have the heart to ruin the moment. His eyes close, and he lets out a long breath before blinking them open again. Jack’s face is level with his now, green eyes soft as he smiles at Brock.

“You should sleep,” Jack murmurs. “You’ll feel better when you’ve rested.”

Brock nods as he rubs the last bit of wetness from his eyes. More of his own dumb needs, but he has to know: “Are you gonna be here when I wake up?” 

Lucky for him, Jack breaks out into a grin at once.

“If you want me to be,” he replies. Brock shrugs, his eyes wandering down to his pillow, where he picks at a stray thread in the seam. He shouldn’t say it. Shouldn’t be ungrateful, but…

“Wanted you to be there this morning,” he mumbles. It’s quiet for a moment before Jack sighs, and Brock squeezes his eyes shut when he feels a kiss against his forehead.

“Then I’m sorry I wasn’t,” Jack murmurs. Brock nods, then shrugs weakly.

“S’not a big deal…”

Jack sighs again, and Brock begrudgingly raises his chin when Jack guides it up. “Brock, it’s ok to tell me what you want,” he says. Brock bites his lip, but forces himself to hold Jack’s gaze, which softens somehow even more for him. “And if you’re ever feeling lonely in your own bed, you’re always welcome in mine, ok?”

“Ok,” Brock whispers. Jack nods slowly, his hand gliding across Brock’s cheek to thread through his hair.

“Now get some sleep,” he murmurs, and Brock feels his eyelids grow heavy in an instant. “I will be here when you wake up.”

Brock’s pretty sure he nods, but maybe any action other than curling up in Jack’s arms is a lost cause by now. The only thing he’s sure of, as darkness and warmth wash over him, is that he’s never felt safer in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment if you enjoyed~ <3

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at moonsofavalon.tumblr.com!


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